Sweet Dreams into Nightmares
by kandisi
Summary: Slash, Peter/Sylar, a little Peter/Nathan. On New Year’s, Peter pays Angela a visit to mimic her ability of postcognition so he can attempt to visit Nathan in a dream. Instead, he at first dreams of the future, a future he’d rather have not seen...


**Title:** Sweet Dreams into Nightmares  
**Author:** sapphire17  
**Pairings:** Peter/Sylar, Peter/Nathan, Matt/Mohinder, Sylar/Lydia, Edgar/Lydia, implied Hiro/Charlie and Micah/Molly  
**Characters:** Peter Petrelli, Sylar/Gabriel Gray, Angela Petrelli (all main), Nathan Petrelli, Mohinder Suresh (Once AGAIN he makes an appearance in my Pylar/Petlar fics!), Matt Parkman, Millie Houston, Samuel Sullivan, Lydia, Edgar, Amanda, Claire Bennet, Noah Gray, Hesam, a little Emma Coolidge, Heidi Petrelli, Tim Petrelli, and Nurse Hammer  
**Rating: **_Definitely_ R  
**Summary:** On New Year's, Peter pays Angela a visit to mimic her ability of postcognition so he can attempt to visit Nathan in a dream. Instead, he at first dreams of the future, a future he'd rather have not seen... A future of him and Gabriel Gray _together_...  
**Warnings:** Alcohol use, kinda f'n _long_ for one-shot, very dark themes at points, mega angsty, language, violence, non/dub-con, some brief sexin' in several of Peter's dreams/nightmares (I want Peter's dreams/nightmares), character death (also in several of Peter's dreams/nightmares), Samuel's insanity, what Sylar does at the strip club (Now you're REALLY scared!), Millie's bitchiness, evil!Claire, emoness, the fact that at different points Peter and Sylar both have kids (Not mpreg, though, sadly enough on my part. I should totally try that some time, thou...), the fact that future Peter is sorta _in_ to present Peter at the end...  
**A/N:** ...I have no idea... (And OMG, I have broken my crackfic streak...!) This just... came to me when I was reading over a Peter/Nathan snippit I wrote as part of a music meme I did on lj to the song "He Lives in You" by Lebo M., where Peter dreamt about Nathan. I thought "Well, maybe he can again, using postcognitive dreaming!" This was originally going to be an exclusively Peter/Nathan fic, but, damnit, you know me... I got to thinking about Peter dreaming about his future with Sylar, too, and from there, things spiraled _outta_ control. Heck, this FIC is outta control...! And it's... kinda hard to understand. Peter's dreams are in order, the later ones being further and further in the future, but originally, I was going to have them all random-like. Changed my mind, though, since that would have made the fic even MORE confusing that it already is! So, yeah, read on if you must... lol...

PS... fic title comes from the title of a Hellsing AMV I watched, haha...

**Sweet Dreams into Nightmares**

It was New Year's.

2010 was _finally_ here.

And Peter Petrelli didn't give a _**flying fuck**__._

_Especially_ not now.

He had gone out with Hesam, Emma Coolidge, Nurse Hammer, and a few of his other fellow co-workers for some drinks at a local bar, and, with the thought on his mind that he was starting the first year of his life from which Nathan Petrelli would _not_ be a part of, Peter had gotten _highly_ intoxicated. Hesam and Emma had _desperately_ tried to get Peter to slow down, but it had just been no use. Peter slammed shot off shot, drank scotch after scotch, whiskey after whiskey, vodka after vodka, one wine after the other, until he was _completely_ out of it.

Finally, one of the bartenders had noticed, just as soon as Peter was about to begin a rather violent altercation with a man for no reason at all, alongside from the simple fact that the young man had merely bumped into Peter when Peter had been exiting the restroom. Peter had turned, growled, and slammed his fist into the guy's face, before the bartender had run over with a baseball bat and demanded that Peter leave immediately before he called the police.

Then, Peter tried to attack _him_.

Hesam came between them, and told Peter to calm down, that he was drunk and needed to go home and sleep it off, but Peter had shaken his head, told Hesam that he still had to go to his mother's goddamned _motherfucking_ party. Hesam told Peter he was in _no_ condition to go, and Peter only laughed.

He laughed like a madman.

He laughed to keep from crying.

"I'm going to kill someone, very soon," Peter said with a heavy slur, chuckling stupidly to himself, before Hesam shook him frantically.

"You just _might_ if you don't chill, man," Hesam worriedly stated, "Come on, let the guys drive you home."

"No, I gotta... gotta find someone... someone I'm gonna fucking murder, torture, until he's bleeding, shaking, _screaming_ for me to stop. Fuck, I've got to find him first, though. Gonna go see my friend Mohinder... yeah, he can help me..." Peter slurred, barely making even a lick of sense.

"...Peter..." Hesam muttered, his voice full of concern, and bewilderment, "You don't know what the _fuck_ you're saying, but I have no doubt in my mind that you _will_ hurt someone, including _yourself_, it you don't go back to your apartment and sleep this off."

"Get outta my way, Hesam," Peter grunted, shoving his partner aside.

"Get the _fuck_ out of my bar," the bartender angrily commanded, patting the end of the bat against his free hand, "Or I'll _bash_ your face in, pretty boy."

"Hey hey, FUCK you!" Peter cursed with a pointing hand gesture, "You're fucking lucky my father stole all of my abilities or I'd electrocute your sorry ass with my hands!"

And, um, yeah... everyone looked at Peter as if he were the craziest man on Earth.

"Are you on _drugs?_" the bartender asked.

"My friend is just drunk, and don't worry, he's leaving now," Hesam answered for Peter, "C'mon, Peter, let's get you home..."

Peter violently shook off Hesam's touch. "I said to FUCK OFF. I am _going_ to see Mohinder, and he's _gonna_ help me find that sorry son of a bitch so I can fucking _decapitate_ him. I don't _care_ if I have to absorb Claire's ability and keep it always, and then, I don't care _if_ it takes me a _thousand_ fucking _years_ to find him, I'll chase him all over the _world_, he'll _never_ escape me. I should have killed him when I had him nailed to the fucking floor like the bitch he is."

"...Peter, are you actually _on_ something...?" Hesam hesitantly inquired.

"You can stay here with Emma and the others, I am making my exit stage left. Or is it right? Fuck, I dunno," Peter chortled dumbly, "Well, bye. Gonna... gonna go... what was I going to do again? Oh yeah, kill. But, I have to hail a cab first."

"And you are going home, right?"

"Sure, right, yeah..." Peter lied, "Bye Hesam."

Peter hence turned, and clumsily exited the bar.

Hesam continued to stand, bemused.

What the fuck?

Kill? Torture? Abilities?

But, Hesam figured Peter, again, just needed to sleep it off...

If only Hesam knew how much of shithole Peter was really in.

***

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

Pound.

Pound.

Pound.

Poundpoundpound.

"JUST a minute!"

Loud steps.

Stomps.

A door opened.

"What the hell do you wa—oh, it's _you_. Peter, whatever are you doing here...?"

"Mohinder," Peter slurred, holding an open bottle of third-empty whisky in his left-hand, "I need your help. I—I gotta kill him, Mohinder... Gotta... gotta make him fucking _pay_ for he did to me, to Nathan..."

Mohinder Suresh eyed the bottle of alcohol, and sighed. "Peter, you're drunk. _Very_ drunk. I can tell. What's going on? I didn't even _know_ you drank like this. Is it because it's New Year's?"

"I need you to call Molly Walker," Peter silently requested, looking his friend in the eyes, "She's got to find him for me, so I can kill him."

"Find who...?"

"Sylar."

Mohinder's jaw gaped a bit. "I'm sorry, Peter, but that is _definitely __**out**__ of the question_. I'm _not_ letting you bring an innocent girl into your epic battle with that madman. I'm _very_ sorry for what happened to Nathan, but right now, you just need to go home, and get some sleep. Here, maybe I should... keep this..."

Mohinder went in for the bottle of liquor, before Peter slapped Mohinder's invading arm away, violently.

"Keep your motherfucking hands away, Mohinder," Peter barked out.

"Mohinder, who is that?" someone called from the bedroom.

A voice.

A man's voice.

The man walked out of the bedroom, into the main room, where Peter finally caught wind of him.

It was Matt Parkman of all people, in only a pair of sweat pants.

And, as for Mohinder, Peter just now noticed that his shirt was open, and, that it was missing buttons, as if it had been ripped open by a pair of strong hands.

Parkman's strong hands.

Peter smirked, rudely. "I never knew you were a _fag_, Mohinder."

Mohinder frowned. "Peter, I think it's time you left."

"Fucking fine with me, _fag_, just give me Molly's phone number and I'll do just that. ...I'm not leaving without it, if I have to force my way in and steal your address book, or your cell-phone. Remember, your strength won't work on me with my current ability..."

"Be it may, I'm _still_ sure that Matt and I are more than capable of winning against you in your current, disgusting state of sick, _sick_ intoxication, Peter," Mohinder replied, returning Peter's rudeness right back at him with full-on force.

And, fuck, he was right.

Out of nowhere, while he was standing there, in Mohinder's open doorway, Peter suddenly remembered his dream—no—nightmare from the night before...

Nathan had appeared to him, coming out of the sky, bright, almost blinding light behind him. Nathan had a pair of angel's wings, and his arms were open as he flew down from the heavens, Peter standing down before him waiting for Nathan to come down and envelope him in his strong, loving arms once again.

And then, the wings had melted, the light turned red, and Nathan began ripping his skin off until blood was everywhere.

It had been _horrible_.

He ripped finally ripped his face off, and underneath...

...Had been _Sylar_...

And then, Peter had woken up, screaming, and desperate for alcohol.

And since it was New Year's, Peter had started drinking very, _very_ early.

He had been drinking the day away.

And he hadn't thought of that horrible, horrible nightmare again until now.

Suddenly, Peter's eyes teared, before his face was suddenly becoming coated with salty tears. Peter wanted to break down there and then.

But wait.

_Dreams_.

Dreams were the answer.

"I-I'm sorry Mohinder, you're right... I will kill Sylar, but, I need help, and I think... I need Nathan to get that help. I gotta see him, gotta go see mom to make that possible. I'll see Nathan again, tonight..."

Mohinder's angry expressions from before had resided, as he gently placed a hand on Peter's shoulder.

"No, Peter, you're in no condition to go anywhere tonight. Come on inside, and you can stay here... Really, Matt and I don't mind, do we?"

Matt shook his head. "Not at all. It's the least I can do after all of the times you saved me when Danko and his men were after us."

"T-Thank you guys, but no..." Peter solemnly answered, wiping his tear-streaked face with the back of his hand, "I have to go see mom, I have to. Have to see Nathan again, now... I'll go now, I-I'm sorry for what I called you both... I'm not exactly straight as an arrow, either..."

Mohinder couldn't hold back a chuckle. "Alright, Peter, but promise me you'll go straight home after that, and that you won't drive under _any_ circumstances."

"I promise..."

"And... I think I'll just... take this..." Mohinder silently whispered, reaching for the bottle of aged whisky in Peter's left-hand, and, Peter finally let him have it.

"Goodbye, Mohinder, Matt, happy New Year's," Peter said, before he turned, and walked down the hall.

Mohinder sighed again, closing the door.

"My God," Matt spoke, his eyes slightly widened, "Nathan's death has _really_ got Peter fucked-up _big_ time. I hope he hasn't been binging. Poor guy..."

"I think this is only temporary, thankfully," Mohinder said as he sat the bottle down on the table where Matt was sitting, "Though I do think Peter has been going at it since the crack of dawn from the looks of him. Well, come on, let's head back to bed... pick up where we left off..."

Matt smiled. "I'm all for that."

***

"So, he was mugged?"

A nod.

"Yes, from what we know. He was coming home from the office, when a man demanded all of his money. I can only guess he refused the man, being the man he is—was—and then, his throat was slit."

Millie Houston shook her head, but her small, undeniable grin suggested a hidden presence of knowledge.

Nevertheless, smart as she was, Angela Petrelli didn't catch it.

Millie took another sip of red wine, and then remembered what that bastard—Nathan—had done to her beloved daughter, Kelly. Yes, she'd had him assassinated, shot, buried. She could only figure that the body had been found, and that now, Angela was making up some stupid story or another to cover up his horrendous death in all actuality.

It _was_ a stupid story, though.

Angela could have done better than that.

She really was losing her touch.

"So, will your son Peter be joining us tonight?" Millie inquired.

Angela nodded. "He went out with some co-workers of his to celebrate the New Year, but he should be here—should have been here—over an hour ago. I wonder what's keeping him?"

And then, like clockwork, Peter stormed in to the ballroom.

"Oh, there he is," Millie said, as Angela turned around.

"Mom!" Peter shouted, "Mom, need your fucking help! Now! I figured out how I can see Nathan again and stop Sylar! For good! I'm gonna kill him, mom, help me!"

"Oh my..." Mille muttered, shaking her head once again. She had known Peter had been nothing but a disgrace to the Petrelli name after that announcement Nathan had made about Peter being mentally unbalanced, and Millie had even heard that Peter had been institutionalized temporarily, but _this?_

This was just _pathetic_.

Angela's jaw gaped as she eyed her remaining, and very drunk son.

And all of the other guests eyed him too, also able to tell that Peter wasn't exactly in his right mind.

Peter drunkenly stumbled up to Angela and Millie, picking a glass of champagne up off of a nearby table on the way, as he downed half of it in one swig.

"Mom, I _need_ you to give me your ability," Peter sternly said, then having another go at his glass.

Millie had another sip of her own wine, her eyes darting from Peter, to Angela.

Apparently Peter had been let out of the ward a little early.

"Peter, you don't know what you're saying, dear," Angela replied, trying to remain at ease, much like she always tried to do, "You're intoxicated, Peter. I'll let you say here for the night. Why don't you go upstairs, get some sleep, and we'll talk about this in the morning?"

"No!" Peter shouted at the top of his lungs, throwing his empty crystal glass down to the floor, where it broke into a thousand tiny pieces, "I need your ability NOW! I am GOING to see Nathan again, tonight! It's not fair! _You've_ seen him! You told me, now it's my fucking turn! I don't have my abilities anymore like I used to!" he continued to yell, attracting the attention, of, well... everyone... "Fuck, I WAS the most powerful of us ALL until then! Now I'm _barely_ even ONE OF US! My power mimicry is so fucking USELESS! I'm not even an EMPATH anymore! I am gonna FIND Sylar, gonna figure out to FIX my empathy USING his body, and then, I am gonna KILL HIM!"

Heidi Petrelli was there, with Monty and Simon, and she pulled her two children closer, staring at Peter in shock. She had known that he was mentally unstable, but, God, Peter _desperately_ needed some help.

Peter's uncle, Tim Petrelli stared, too. What the fuck was _wrong_ with his nephew? Was he insane, or _just_ drunk?

Probably both, from the looks and sound of him, sadly enough...

"Angela dear..." Millie muttered out of the corner of her mouth, side-glancing her 'friend' with her large, blue eyes, "Would you like me to call the police? I think your son is in need of more medical attention."

Peter smirked. "Fuck you, bitch, you always hated my brother because he was fucking your daughter."

"That's it, I am calling the police," Millie smirked back, "You need help, Peter."

"That won't be necessary, Millie," Angela sighed, taking Peter by the arm, "He's just very, very drunk, or, I hate to say, but obviously _on_ something. He and his friends must have gotten a little carried away tonight at whatever rave they went to. I promise, Millie, I'll have him seen by somebody as soon as possible. Now, I'm taking him to bed."

And, with that said, Angela gripped Peter's arm all the more tightly and dragged him out of the ballroom, all eyes still on him.

Angela continued to drag Peter, practically hauling him up the stairs, until they were in the hall, and finally, in a vacant bedroom.

She let go of Peter's arm, as Peter clutched at it.

"Ow..." Peter whispered, rubbing his sore arm, "That'll probably _bruise_, mom. I can't heal anymore, remember? Fuck, I'm so fucking useless like this! I WANT my abilities back!"

"Peter!" Angela scolded, "What in the _hell_ is wrong with you? You have _humiliated_ me in front of ALL of my dearest friends and closet relatives! You've also _disgraced_ yourself above all else, once again. ARE you on something, Peter? Been snorting coke? Shooting up Heroin? Yes, I'm sure Nathan would _love_ that. I'm sure, as he watches you from Heaven, right now, that he gets a big _kick_ out of watching you _destroy_ your life and that of everyone else around you. You can _barely_ get out of your own way, Peter, it's always been that way with you. I told Charles that, but he wouldn't listen," Angela groaned, running a hand back through her hair, "He said I was betting on the wrong brother, but now, you're all I have left, so you're all I have to bet _on_. It's up to you to carry on the Petrelli name, our legacy, but, my God Peter, you're falling apart!"

Peter pouted undoubtedly, acting as if his mother's statement had amused him more so than anything else.

"Maybe I don't even want to BE a fucking Petrelli anymore," Peter ground out, "Now, give me your hand."

"No, Peter," Angela griped, "As long as Sylar's still out there, you _must_ keep Rene's power nullification. Sylar came for you once, and you got lucky then. Not too many hospitals have nail guns on hand for your dispense. Without Rene's power, you would be _helpless_ against Sylar. I lost Nathan to him, I am not going to lose you to that monster, too."

Peter began to step forwards, and then, out of nowhere, Angela slapped him across the face.

"Get into bed, Peter."

Peter shot his arm out, gripping Angela's wrist tightly as a bright, redish-pink spark appeared where their skin was making contact. Peter closed his eyes, feeling as Angela's power rushed from her body, into his, as his own body mimicked it fully, his nullification finally erased with the coming forth of another ability.

"Goddamnit, Peter!" Angela shouted, "You WANT Sylar to kill you?!"

"Part of me does, so I can be with Nathan again."

Angela sighed hopeless. "Get into bed, Peter. You're sleeping here tonight. Now that you no longer have Rene's ability, Sylar could pick tonight of all nights to come after you, murder you in your sleep. You'll be safe here. First thing in the morning, I'll have Rene sent over here and you can reacquire his power. So sleep Peter, sleep, and dream if you must. Though, as I've told you, the dreams aren't as vivid when you're sedated. To have proper postcognitve or precognitive dream, you need to be sober, in which you clearly are not."

"You can tell Rene to fuck off then," Peter replied as he walked over to the bed, flopping down on the mattress, "If I don't dream about Nathan tonight, tomorrow, the next day, or the next day, or the day after that, then I'll just keep your ability until I _do_. I'm _not_ letting it go until I see _Nathan_ again."

Angela could only sigh again, rubbing her forehead. "Very well Peter, but only because I know how badly you want another chance to say goodbye to your brother, since last time, you didn't get the closure you needed. But, you must promise me that when that dream finally comes, you will once again take back Rene's nullification ability, and you will continue to stay here until that day comes."

"Okay..." Peter murmured, already near passing out, "Hey, can you bring me some wine or something?"

"...Peter, I am not even going to answer that, that is such a _ridiculous_ question. Now sleep. I'm going back to the party, I'll see you in the morning."

Angela walked out of the room, but not before flicking off the light switch.

She shut the door.

The room was completely dark now.

Peter didn't even bother getting under the covers, as he turned on his side, resting his head on one of the many pillows that were on the bed, most of them just there for decoration.

Peter closed his eyes, praying that he would dream.

And he did.

***

_Peter looked around._

_Where was he?_

_It appeared to be some sort of... carnival..._

_Was this __**the**__ carnival? The... what was it—Sullivan Bros. Carnival...? The carnival Claire had run-off to?_

_Fuck, it was, wasn't it?_

_But what the fuck was going on?_

_There were so many screams, there was so much pain and so much devastation._

_Everyone was running, or fighting, and Peter had never seen __**so**__ many abilities in one place._

_Peter saw Noah Bennet, holding a gun, Claire too, also holding a gun, and, fuck, another woman, with beautiful tattoos all over here body, also holding a gun._

_Then, Peter saw Edgar, that son of a bitch with the knives and the superspeed, as he sliced one of his own 'family' members up with the rapidity of a ray. Then, he did the same to two—three more people._

_Edgar, covered in blood, began to approach another man, who was standing in front of some large... whatever it was... some sort packing device for prizes, before the man held out his hands, and, as Edgar sped in, the whatever it was appeared between them, as Edgar ran into it._

_The safety didn't last long, though, and soon, very soon, the man was slashed to bits just like the others._

_Then, Edgar suddenly screamed out, and fell to the ground, as the beautiful woman with tattoos cried out a loud, "No!"._

_Behind him, the man who Peter suspected to be none other than the infamous Samuel Sullivan stood._

"_You fucking bastard," Noah seethed, pointing his gun at Samuel._

_Samuel smirked, it was almost a laugh, even, and then, the ground began to quake._

_And the ground split in two as the beautiful woman with tattoos made it across just in time before the ground split completely, separating Noah and Claire from Samuel and some of the others and tremors rattled the dirt beneath them._

_The tattooed woman kneeled down next to Edgar, and turned him over._

_Edgar was barely alive, appearing as if he had been shot in the back, only with... rocks..._

"_Edgar..."_

"_Lydia..."_

_So that was her name._

"_I'm so sorry, Lydia... I couldn't stop him..." Edgar whispered, blood draining out of the corner of his mouth._

"_I'll stop him..." Lydia replied, holding Edgar in her arms, "We'll all stop him. Samuel has to pay. Now that he's figured out how to enhance his power, he's even more powerful than Sylar, and he will destroy the world, especially if he convinces Sylar to join him."_

"_If it comes to that, you'll have to kill him, too," Edgar rest-assured, "I-I know something... happened between you and Sylar, Lydia, but know that I will always, and have always, loved you..."_

"_Edgar... I-I love you too, and I'm __**so**__ sorry about Sylar, he means nothing to me, you do... You were the one who was always there for me..."_

"_Lydia..."_

_Lydia leaned down, and their lips touched in one final kiss goodbye._

_It broke Peter's heart to see this._

_And then, Peter walked a few feet over, seeing, on the other side of the large crack in the ground, Matt Parkman, Mohinder Suresh, and even Hiro Nakamura—holding a samurai sword—as they all fought against Samuel's crazy army of carnies._

_And then, things got stranger than ever, as Peter saw himself—his future self—walk up to Samuel._

_And he had blood on his hands, his face, his shirt._

"_Your power currently won't work against me, Samuel, not with mine," the Peter from the future steadily stated._

"_That may be, but this will work," Samuel said as he punched future Peter in the face. Future Peter punched Samuel back, and before present Peter knew it, his future self and Samuel were swinging punches, jabs, and kicks left and right._

_Finally, Samuel won._

_He kicked future Peter in the stomach, where he lay on the ground, towards the gorge in the ground, and fuck, it must have been over one-hundred feet deep. If Samuel threw him down there, he was sure to fall all the way down into the pits of Hell itself._

_When Peter's future self was on the edge, Samuel bent over, and took him by the throat, raising him to his feet._

"_You should have joined me, Peter, we could have been so great together, but you just had to say no. Just had to play the hero. Now, I'm so sorry, so very __**sorry**__, but you'll have to die."_

"_Quick Peter, shut off your ability!"_

_And, Peter's future self was so currently lost that he hadn't recognized the voice, but he did as had been requested of him anyway._

_Samuel pushed future Peter back, until he let go, and Peter was falling, falling..._

_And then not falling._

_Peter stared, bewildered._

"_Leave him alone, Samuel."_

_A man walked up, holding out his open left hand, before future Peter was lifted through the air, and over to where the man stood._

_And, fuck._

_Peter's eyes widened._

_Sylar._

_**Sylar**__ had saved him? __**Again...?**_

"_Sylar, what are you doing?" Samuel inquired, "You're supposed to be on my side. After what I did for you, you owe me. You promised me you would help me."_

"_But Peter wasn't part of our deal. No one's allowed to kill him... ...but __**me**__."_

"_Sylar," future Peter grunted, acting ashamed of himself for having been sided with by the man he hated more than any other in existence, "You can save the world. Prove to me that you're not a complete __**monster**__. That my brother's death in you __**meant**__ something."_

_Sylar gave a small nod, and then, before Samuel could speak again, shocked him with bright, blue electrical shocks, before Samuel fell back, back, and then down, down into that pit of Hell._

_The tremors stopped, but the fighting, the bloodshed, continued._

"_This doesn't change anything between us," Peter's future self growled, "I'm still gonna kill you when this is over."_

"_I can never die, Peter," Sylar calmly remarked, "Never. Even if you take Claire's ability, or take it from me, and then live forever, you can spend one-hundred, two-hundred, a thousand years chasing me all over the world for an eternity, but you will never kill me."_

"_Yes, I will. Or you kill me. Either way, one of us has to die. There's not enough room in the world for both of us."_

"_I am not going to kill you, Peter," Sylar replied in that same, calm voice, "I told you that last time. I want you to suffer, and no torment I could bestow on you is greater than life itself, knowing that you'll have to live out the rest of your life, no matter how long or how short that may be, without Nathan, knowing that you couldn't save him, that you were too late."_

"_You fucking __**bastard**__," future Peter seethed, "I will __**kill**__ you when this is over."_

_Sylar groaned, reaching out as he cupped the side of future Peter's face, causing that future Peter to flinch uncomfortably under the touch, appearing disgusted._

"_Sleep," Sylar said._

_And just like that, Peter's future self fell to the ground._

***

"Ugh... what time is it...?"

Peter groaned, and, God, he felt _horrible_.

Sick, nauseous, and hungover as hell.

The bedroom door opened.

"I see you're finally awake. I thought you were going to sleep _all_ day."

Angela walked into the room, over to the bed as Peter sat up.

"Did you find what you were looking for in your dreams?"

"Not exactly..." Peter muttered, "It-It made no _sense_... I saw myself, at the Sullivan Bros. Carnival, and others were there fighting against him and his army of specials. I saw Noah, Claire, Mohinder, Hiro, Matt... and then... Sylar... he-he saved my life again, and then, told me he wouldn't kill me only because he wanted me to go on suffering, for the rest of my life..."

"The dreams, like the future, aren't set in stone, Peter," Angela remarked, "They're merely a guideline, a rough draft, of the future that _might_ be. You proved that when you stopped yourself from exploding New York City, and again when you stopped Adam Monroe from releasing the virus."

"I didn't get to see Nathan..." Peter murmured, "I'll have to try again... What-What time is it...?"

"It's half past noon, dear."

"Oh shit! I'm supposed to be at work at one!"

Peter promptly hopped out of bed.

"With all due respect, Peter, I think you should call in sick. You're in _no_ condition to work today after what you put your poor body through yesterday."

"I'm going, mom," Peter answered.

"Well at least eat something first," Angela insisted.

"No time."

Peter gave his mother a quick kiss on the cheek, and then, headed out the door.

***

"Slow day today, huh?"

"Yeah Hesam, really slow, thank God. I feel like hell."

"You _look_ like hell."

Peter chuckled. "Yeah, I kinda do..."

"You wanna go get some coffee?" Hesam inquired.

"I-I think I'm just gonna go lay down in one of the patient rooms for a while... take some Tylenol and maybe catch a quick catnap."

"Alright, man, I'll wake you if anything comes up," Hesam stated, walking away.

Peter walked down the hospital's elongated hallway, stopping in the medicine room at the vender. Peter retrieved a small vial of Morphine, and a syringe, before he walked out of the room, and down the hall once again, taking the elevator down to the first floor. Upon reaching it, Peter walked down another hall, until he had reached the long row of medical rooms, all empty. Peter chose the one on the very end, entering it, as he shut the door behind him.

Peter walked over to the small bed, sat down, and then, withdrew an overly large quantity of Morphine from the vial, then rolling up his left-sleeve.

...Okay, so, yes, this was probably a _bad_ idea...

_**Very**__ bad_.

But Peter _needed_ to dream, and to dream, he had to _sleep_. He needed to see Nathan, **now**, _especially_ after the crazy dream he had had last night. He needed Nathan's guidance desperately.

He just hoped he didn't get caught with his pants down—well—sleeves up, literally.

After injecting himself with the powerful opiate, Peter lay back, closed his eyes, and waited for sleep to claim him.

And from the quantity of Morphine Peter had used...

...It didn't take long.

***

_Now where am I? _

'_Nathan? Nathan? Where are you?'_

'_Nathan, please... __**help**__ me...'_

_Peter looked around._

_It... wasn't quite a warehouse, but it was something similar... Wherever it was, it was abandoned, that much was certain._

_Peter suddenly heard a laugh echo throughout the building._

_A laugh._

_Peter recognized that laugh._

_Nathan's laugh._

_Only, so dark..._

_Peter walked through the building, to where the laugh had originated from._

_At the end of the building, which Peter now realized had been a storage facility, there were a number of rooms down a hall. Peter turned, and began ambling down that hall, to the very end, to the last room on the right where the door was open._

_Peter stopped at the doorway._

_And what he saw..._

'_Nathan...? Is this the past?'_

_And then he saw..._

'_Oh my God...'_

_A man was on the floor, on his back, his arms outstretched on either side of him, and his wrists locked into some sort of... leather restraints..._

_The man started to come to, and appeared as if he had been heavily drugged._

_Nathan walked over to him, where he got down, and straddled him._

"_Wake up..." Nathan whispered, slightly slapping the man's face._

_Then man slowly awoke._

"_W-What the fuck? Petrelli, where the hell am I? And... what the hell? Let me out of these, goddamn you! What the __**fuck**__ are you doing?!"_

_Sylar had yelled this._

_**Sylar**__._

_**What the fuck?**_

_What was __Nathan__**doing**__ to him...?_

_Was he going to torture him or something...?_

_Sylar began to struggle for all he was worth, but alas, to no avail._

_Nathan could only laugh again, laughing very darkly, a laugh Peter didn't recognize._

_This wasn't Nathan. Couldn't be, could it...?_

_Nathan moved between Sylar's legs, spreading them, and suddenly, Peter became sick._

_**Very**__ sick._

_Especially when Nathan ripped open Sylar's shirt, and then, went to work on his pants..._

"_Oh my God..." Peter muttered, running into the room, "Nathan, stop it! Fucking __**stop**__ it!"_

_But it was as if Peter wasn't even there._

_Peter tried to throw Nathan off of Sylar, but when he tried to touch him, his hands... phased right through Nathan..._

_And so, the show continued..._

"_P—"_

"_Don't call me that," Nathan sternly demanded, "My name is __**Nathan**__, and you are __**going**__ to call me __**Nathan**__ while I do this to you. You are going to scream __**his**__—__**my**__ name—as this happens."_

"_You're fucking __**insane!**__ I'll __**KILL**__ YOU FOR THIS!"_

"_You couldn't kill me before, you can't kill me now."_

_Sylar smirked. "I __**did**__ kill you before, remember? Both of you."_

_Peter was flabbergasted._

_What.. the.. hell...?_

_This was the __**future?**__ But, __**how...?**__ Nathan was dead, and yet, here he was, alive._

_Peter was __**so**__ confused._

_Nathan removed Sylar's shoes, and then, practically ripped the pants off of him, leaving Sylar fully exposed, causing Peter to blush at the sight at he turned his head away._

_And then... things got even worse, when Nathan began to undo his own belt._

_Peter began __**screaming**__ for it to stop again, but it did no good._

_Nathan removed himself from his pants, and further spread Sylar's legs apart, as Sylar began screaming, too._

_And then, unimaginably, things got even __**worse**__ than that, as Nathan positioned himself, and slammed into Sylar._

_Sylar screamed in agony, as Peter screamed right along with him._

_This was most __**horrible**__ thing he had __**ever**__ seen in his __**life**__._

_He knew he was dreaming, and, fuck, he just wanted to __**wake up.**_

_Now._

"_NATHAN PLEASE STOP IT!!!" Peter shouted._

_No use?_

_No use..._

_Peter was forced to watch as Nathan raped Sylar, slamming into him over and over and over again._

_A minute later, Sylar's face was coated in tears, and, Peter felt... so sorry for him..._

"_It __**hurts**__, oh God it __**HURTS!**__ PLEASE __PETER__**STOP...!**__"_

_And Peter froze._

'_Nathan' backhanded Sylar across the face, splitting lips lip, before the tiny cut healed itself over. 'Nathan' backhanded Sylar a second time, breaking the skin around his eyebrow this time around as Sylar continued to __**wail**__ in pain._

"_I told you, that's __**not**__ my name. I'm __**Nathan Petrelli**__, and you are __**going**__ to call me Nathan."_

"_Peter, god... goddamn you...! Stop it! Just-Just fucking stop, please!"_

_Another backhand._

"_It's __**Nathan**__, Sylar, Nathan."_

"_You're... fucking insane, Peter! __**Fuck**__ you!"_

_Backhanded again._

_And then, who Peter now figured to be his future self in Nathan's shapeshifted form, continued to sexually assault Sylar, until he had Sylar begging, panting, and moaning beneath him._

_Peter from the future pulled almost completely out of Sylar again, before ruthlessly slamming back into him, as he threw Sylar's legs apart and continued to take him with force. Sylar howled in misery and humiliation, but after a couple more minutes of the rough treatment, Sylar had finally stopped struggling against his restraints, as his cries of suffering began to change... change into... something else..._

"_Oh God..." Sylar moaned, and, fuck, by now, he was bucking his hips back up against the madman who was putting him through this torture._

"_That's it, you're a little whore, aren't you?" the shapeshifted Peter relished, "You want this, don't you?"_

"_N-No..."_

"_Tell me you want it, Sylar. Tell me you want me. __**Nathan**__."_

_Future Peter accentuated his point with a sharp thrust, driving home as Sylar's back arched up off the floor and he let out another high-pitched moan._

_Sylar thought he might die, of pain, of pleasure, of humiliation. His eyes rolled back, before future Peter demanded that Sylar look him back in the eyes again and answer his previous inquiry._

"_I-I __**do!**__ I __**want**__ you, Peter, __**always**__ wanted you!"_

"_It's __**Nathan**__, I told you!" future Peter argued, slowing down his thrusting in a threatening manner, lashing out as he hit Sylar, breaking his lip all over again._

"_Fucking fine, 'Nathan', I want you! Just-Just keep fucking me! Don't stop, oh God PLEASE!"_

_And so future Peter did keep fucking him, taking Sylar's ultimate degradation—as had been future Peter's goal—to a whole new level._

_Peter—the real Peter—the one who was trapped in this horrendous nightmare—shook all over, his jaw dropped._

_This was disgusting. Totally, and absolutely __**disgusting**__. He'd __**never**__ do anything like this to anyone! Especially not Sylar!_

_Disgusting._

_Just..._

_**Disgusting**__._

_Sylar began screaming his brother's name in ardent ecstasy, ultimately wrapping his legs around the other man's waist and pulling him in, his heals digging into the small of future Peter's back._

_How could Sylar actually get-off to this? Though... come to think, Sylar had seemed to rather enjoy being beat up by Peter at Kirby Plaza, and Peter wasn't even going to bring up the whole 'nail gun' thing... Yeah, Sylar had seemed __**really**__ into being that, and to having Peter on top of him, strangely enough... Peter had never stopped to think what kind of sick kink the killer might be in to, but he __**never**__ would have imagined that Sylar was some sort of __**masochist**__. Hell, Sylar seemed like—was—a __**sadist**__, so this made no fucking __**sense**__. Well, maybe Sylar was both at the same time? Or, something..._

"_Yes, oh God, yes..." future Sylar continued to moan, using his legs to pull future Peter into his body all the more hard, until he was panting, sweating all over, "P—Nathan, please... touch me..."_

"_**No**__," future Peter said in response, "I'm going to bring you to brink and back, to Hell and back, but I am __**not**__ letting you come, do you understand me, you fucking little masochistic slut?"_

"_**Goddamn**__ you..." Sylar gasped, thrusting his hips back against future Peter's with brutal force, "__**Please**__, let me finish! I-I'm almost there, fuck, I __**can't**__ take it!"_

"_Am I your __**first**__, Sylar? I am, aren't I? Am I the one to take your 'second' virginity, bitch? I'm so special. Since you can heal, I can't take it as many times I want from you. You like having my dick up your ass? Love it? You want more of Nathan's—of my—hard cock deep inside you?"_

"_Go to Hell!" Sylar spat, refusing to answer future Peter's question. From the shame and obvious embarrassment written all over Sylar's facial features, from the way Sylar had been sobbing before, and still slightly was, Peter could tell that he __**was**__ Sylar's first, sadly enough..._

_Peter watched as his future self, still in Nathan's shape, gave one final push into Sylar before he sheathed himself completely, burying himself to hilt in Sylar as he came, making sure he didn't let Sylar's name escape his mouth. Peter could tell he had been holding that back._

_When it was over—for future Peter at least—the fucker pulled out of Sylar, fixed himself back up, zipped up his pants, and then, unlocked Sylar from his restraints._

_Well, Peter figured he had a deathwish in this future, then._

_His future self then stood, and kicked Sylar in the side, violently, causing Sylar to howl in pain once again._

"_Knew you'd enjoy that."_

_And then, 'Nathan' shapeshifted back into 'Peter'._

_Future Peter once again straddled Sylar, this time straddling his chest, before he touched Sylar's face, absorbing some ability from him or another, but what, Peter didn't know._

"_Now, I'm through with you. Again, don't think this changes anything between us. I'm __**still**__ going to kill you, but, my God, you are such a __**sad**__ fucking sight right now that I don't want to __**debase**__ myself any further than I already have. I'm not some sick __**faggot**__, you are. I can tell you __**love**__ taking it up the ass like some little __**queer**__. Bitch."_

_And then, future Peter began undoing one of Sylar's restraints._

_Well, Peter could only figure that he had a deathwish in the future, then._

_The second Sylar's right-arm was free, Sylar seized future Peter's throat._

"_You..." Sylar growled viciously. "You bitch. You fucking bitch."_

_But, Peter's future self only grinned as his oxygen supply was cut-off._

'_Oh God, I'm __**mad**__ in the future, aren't I...?'_

_Sylar suddenly freed future Peter's throat, and, before future Peter could begin coughing, wildly, Sylar's anger level flared still more as he pointed his finger, waved his hand, and ferociously slashed a deep, diagonal telekinetic cut across future Peter's face._

_And this time around, future Peter mimicked Sylar's earlier howls of agony._

_Before Sylar could slash him with his mind again, future Peter removed a syringe from his—no—Nathan's senatorial jacket, and with his right-hand, jammed it into Sylar's neck. Sylar hissed, before his arm fell back down to the side and his eyes closed._

_Future Peter just continued to sit on Sylar momentarily, wiped his bloody face, and then, began to sob._

_Hysterically._

_He collapsed forwards, onto Sylar's body._

"_I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." future Peter wept, "Oh __**God**__, I'm __**sorry**__."_

_And then, Sylar's free arm shakily rose, lazily wrapping around future Peter's back, hugging him close._

'_What the fuck, I just __**raped**__ him, and he's __**holding**__ me...?' Peter thought with amazement. For some reason, he found this disconcerting. 'Well, at least I'm showing some fucking remorse this __**sick**__ act I just committed...'_

_Soon enough, Sylar was completely out of it._

_Future Peter continued to cry for a while longer as he clutched Sylar's form beneath him, but then, sat back, and once again wiped his face, streaking his hand and arm with blood._

'_Why don't I take his healing ability? If I don't, that'll surely scar me for life! Is that—is that how I get that scar that I had in the future...?'_

"_I'll keep the scar, for you, Sylar..." future Peter whispered. "Now, I'll never be able to look in the mirror again without seeing your face, looking back at me."_

'_Am I insane? Well, yes, obviously. I don't want to be reminded of this every fucking time I see myself...!'_

_Peter watched in continued awe as the Peter from the future unlocked Sylar's other wrist from the restraints, before he then stood, and left the room._

'_Oh-Oh God, what in the fuck AM I? What in the FUCK have I BECOME? I just RAPED a man! As NATHAN! I am going to go to HELL!'_

"_Peter, Peter... Peter!"_

"_Wake up!"_

"_Hey man, wake up!"_

"_Wake up, Peter!"_

"_Hey!"_

"_Oh my God, I think he's OD'd!"_

"_Quick, Nurse Hammer, get a doctor in here!"_

***

Peter cracked open his eyes, examining his surroundings.

He was _still_ in the hospital, in a patient's room, only, _not_ in the room he had previously been in...

"The fuck?" Peter muttered, instantly processing the fact that he was now in a medical gown, and had an IV inserted in his arm.

"Well done, Peter, well done."

"Huh?"

"You've really, _really_ outdone yourself this time, Peter."

Angela Petrelli walked over to the bed, pulled up a chair before sitting down.

"Mom? W-What's going on...?"

"You gave yourself an overdose of Morphine, and my _God_, Peter, you could have _killed_ yourself. All of this just for a _dream?_"

Peter quickly shook his head. "No... No, not for a dream, for a _nightmare_. A... _horrible_ nightmare... Oh God, mom, it was so _horrible_. I-I was with Sylar, and I must have absorbed his shapeshifting ability. I... turned into Nathan, and then, got on the floor where Sylar was. He was bound to it, his wrists locked into leather restraints... And then, _as_ Nathan, I... I... tortured him, in the _worst_ way possible... I-I..."

"That's not important right now, Peter," Angela sighed, "Your job is. You may get fired for this."

And then, like clockwork, a CNA entered the room, holding a clipboard in her hands.

"Mr. Petrelli, how are you feeling?"

"A little hazy..."

"Well, that's to be expected. The Saline should clear the drug out of your system within the next few hours, but you got lucky this time," the woman stated, scribbling something down. "Now, let's get started. I heard you just lost your brother, and your friends here said you were shouting his name in your sleep, along with someone else's name. Were you trying to kill yourself to be with Nathan Petrelli again?"

Peter frowned. "Of _course_ not. I-I... sprained my ankle real bad the other day, and it was interfering with my job, so I thought a little Morphine might ease the pain... I-I'm not a doctor, so I guess I didn't know how much to administer..."

A lie.

Peter _had_ known it had been too much.

"Is that _really_ all it was? Because the hospital now suspects you of having been the one who stole over twenty vials of Morphine from the dispensary back in late November. Witnesses say they saw you leaving the vending room with a red bag. Tell me, Mr. Petrelli, are you a drug-addict?"

"Of _**course**_ not!" Peter repeated, only louder this time, "I _told_ you what happened! I _also_ didn't steal any drugs!"

Yeah... that was complete bullshit, a-gain. Peter had stolen the drugs, to use on Sylar, right before the whole nail gun thing. God, Peter did NOT want to think about Sylar screaming beneath him on the floor right now...

"Very well then Mr. Petrelli," the CNA responded with a sigh, scribbling some more on her clipboard, "Someone from the staff will come to talk to you later about the stake of your job here as a paramedic. You'll probably get off with a severe warning this time around, but if anything like this _ever_ happens again, I assure you, you _will_ be fired, and placed into a rehab program against your will."

Peter nodded, bowing his head in shame. "I-I understand... I'm so sorry..."

And then, the woman left.

Angela groaned. "My God, Peter, what a _mess_ you've made of your life. I'm _so_ happy Nathan isn't here to see this. It would _kill_ him. If you hadn't come to me last night, I would have thought you were trying to kill yourself, too. I'm surprised they didn't tie you down to the bed in restraints."

Restraints.

And for a second there, Peter had almost, _almost_ forgotten about his nightmare.

"Mom... have you ever... ever dreamed about... intimate acts, between two people...? And if you have, have they ever... have they ever... come true...?"

Angela frowned. "...That is none of your business, Peter."

"Which means 'yes'..."

Angela's frown remained persistent. "I'm not discussing this topic with you. Now, I'll leave you be, try to get some rest, which is exactly what I know you're going to do."

Angela stood, and bent over, brushing Peter's soft bangs away from his eyes and she kissed him softly on the forehead.

Then, with another deep sigh, she turned, and left.

Peter lay back down, on his side.

Fuck, his mother was right. He had fucked-up royally.

And as for that dream—no—_nightmare_—Peter just... couldn't stop thinking about it.

But, that didn't matter. He had to dream. He had to see Nathan. Make Nathan see him, the way Charles had.

Peter then closed his eyes, and after another thirty minutes, slowly drifted off...

***

_Peter knew where he was this time._

_His apartment._

_Peter once again observed his future self, sitting at the dining table, a somewhat, but not quite, healed, diagonal scar now etched into his face. It had been stitched shut, and the blue stitches were very visible. He was drinking coffee, even at night, much like Peter always did. Peter rarely ever slept, come to think, but lately, for the real Peter, that had changed._

_Suddenly, a light knock on the front door was heard, as Peter's future self stood, walking over to the door._

_He unlocked it, and opened it._

_And on the other side..._

_Sylar..._

_Future Peter stared at Sylar momentarily, and momentarily, no words passed between them. And then, with haste, future Peter pulled Sylar through the door, slammed it, and then slammed __**Sylar**__ up against the wall, __**attacking**__ the man's lips with his own, looking as if he were going to __**suck**__ the air out of the man's lungs._

_While kissing Sylar still, future Peter ripped open Sylar's shirt like he had before, and took it off of him, before Sylar pulled the white, long-sleeved shirt Peter always wore under his paramedic's uniform over future Peter's head. Then, they kissed their ways all the way to Peter's bedroom, fumbling with one another's pant's zippers along the way, stepping out of their shoes..._

_Peter swallowed again, waited another minute, and then, followed them to where they had gone._

_He stood in the doorway, and by now, his future self and Sylar were already on the bed, naked._

_Future Peter was on top, kissing Sylar's lips, his face, his jaw-line, his neck, his collarbone, his shoulder, his chest... kissing and licking __**everywhere**__, biting, licking his nipples, appearing as if he wanted to __**eat**__ the man beneath him __**alive**__._

"_Peter..."_

"_Sylar... been thinking about you for the past two weeks... Want you, need you __**so**__ fucking bad... Gotta fuck you again. Been thinking about __**nothing**__ else. __**Only**__ fucking you, __**day and night**__. Wanting to hear you scream __**my**__ name next time."_

"_Peter... oh Peter..." Sylar gasped as future Peter ground down into him, "I've been thinking about you, too, wanting nothing more than your cock up my ass again, mine in yours... Fuck me, Peter Petrelli. Fuck me __**hard**__."_

_Sylar opened his legs._

_And, God, Peter __**looked**__._

_Stared, even._

_Peter swallowed again. Sylar. He had sounded so... __**sexy**__... And for long, as the intimate act before him continued, Peter could suddenly feel the lump in his pants._

_And once again, he was __**disgusted**__ with himself._

_Future Peter must have had Sylar's telekinesis, because the nightstand drawer opened, and a small bottle flew out, into his hand. He wasted no time, uncapping the bottle before dousing his fingers with some of the crystal clear fluid. Then, he spread Sylar's legs all the further, and began preparing him for the sexual acts which were about to take place._

"_I don't want your fucking __**fingers**__, Peter, I want your __**cock**__. In me. __**Now**__."_

_Future Peter shook his head. "No, Sylar. I-I'm not gonna hurt you this time... Don't __**want**__ to hurt you, want to __**pleasure**__ your body in ways you never knew were possible, and nothing more..."_

'_What's going on?' Peter thought as he watched, 'Me, and Sylar? Together? In love...? What the fuck is going on? I __**don't**__ love him, I __**hate**__ him, he hurt Claire, mom, killed Nathan. I want to kill him, not make love to him, what is this?'_

_Sylar. Didn't seem to like what future Peter had said. Wanted it now. Like he'd said. Flipped them over. Straddled future Peter._

_Literally __**impaled**__ himself on him._

_Sylar screamed in pain._

"_**Told**__ you it would hurt like this," future Peter scolded, scolding in the way his mother would scold a person, in a way his mother had scolded him, all of his life._

"_Fuck, I don't care, Peter. Fuck me. Fuck me or I'll kill you, because then, you'll be useless to me alive."_

_Future Peter watched as Sylar bit his lip, and, God, that only turned him on more, apparently. He caressed Sylar's bare hips for moment longer, and then, began to thrust up into the man on top of him._

_As future Peter began to thrust, Peter walked over to the side of the bed to get a closer look. What he really wanted to see was Sylar's face, and from his previous angle, he hadn't been able to._

_Sylar really did look __**gorgeous**__, Peter decided. His now too-long hair mussed, in his face, shielding a set of open, lustful brown eyes as it swung back and forth, back and forth. His face still contorted in pain, and yet pleasure, head titled back, mouth open, whispering Peter's name over and over and over again, mixed with random obscenities._

_Peter continued watch, watch, and watch, feeling like a typical __**voyeur**__, and, hell, he __**was**__, wasn't he? He was voyeuring __**himself**__. In the future. In a dream. And that was __**fucked**__._

"_I'll touch you this time, oh God, want to touch you," future Peter moaned, gripping Sylar's hardness, stroking back and forth with his right-hand as Sylar keened in pleasure, calling out Peter's name again._

_...And present Peter wanted nothing more than to stick his hand down his pants and begin jacking-off, too._

_Future Peter suddenly grabbed Sylar's waist, and flipped them back over, reversing their roles once again._

_Sylar moaned all the more loudly as future Peter slammed home, his legs wrapping around future Peter's waist like they had before, pulling him in fully, welcoming, inviting him into the warm cavern of his body. _

_Finally, after several more minutes of rigorous fucking, future Peter cried out Sylar's name in heated cry of passion, before he collapsed on top of Sylar's body, heaving for breath. Sylar wasted no time, rolling them over before he sat up off of future Peter and summoned the bottle of lubricant into his hand, spread future Peter's legs, and began preparing him just as future Peter had done to him._

_And for long, they were fucking—no—making love—once again._

_This continued for a while, until Sylar let out a deep moan, burying himself into Peter's future self as he gasped Peter's name._

_And then, he pulled out, lying down on the bed next to future Peter._

"_I'm sorry..." Peter heard himself to whisper, "I'm so.. fucking.. sorry for what I did to you... It was sick, wrong, __**disgusting**__. I-I just wanted __**revenge**__ for Nathan so fucking __**bad**__. I still don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive you for that."_

_Sylar pulled future Peter into his arms, kissing his hair._

"_I know, Peter. It was my fault though. Shouldn't have let you get the upper hand on me like you __**always**__ manage to do in the end."_

"_Don't try to turn this around on yourself, Sylar. It was __**my**__ fault and you know it. I-I'm going to Hell..."_

"_No you're not, Peter," Sylar whispered, "You're going to Heaven. If I ever die, Hell is where I'll be going. Sometimes, though, in the past, I often thought I was __**already**__ there. That I had already lived a previous life, and that I had died, and was in Hell __**now**__, in a Hell that was created __**especially**__ for me."_

_Future Peter turned his head ever so slightly, kissing Sylar's collarbone a few times. "Well that can't be true, because I'm in Heaven __**right now**__..."_

_Sylar smiled. "And for the first time in my life, I am too."_

_Future Peter smiled, softly, a smile Peter hadn't seen on his own face since Caitlin, since Simone, and that stumped Peter royally._

_Sylar brought a hand to future Peter's face, and traced the blue-stitched, diagonal scar with his middle finger._

"_You could have taken my healing ability, and yet you said you chose to wear this scar for life, in my name. You're fucking crazy, Peter."_

"_Yeah... I am..."_

"_But, I am, too, so, guess we'll just have to be fucking crazy together..."_

_And then, Sylar tilted future Peter's face up by his chin, and delved in for another kiss._

_Peter covered his mouth, and bowed his head._

'_This is so fucking messed-up. Messed-up. He's messed-up. __**I **__am messed-up. Messed-up. __**Fucked**__-up.'_

***

"Hey man, wake up."

Peter felt as he was shaken to a degree, falling back into a state of self-awareness all over again.

He opened his eyes.

"H-Hesam...?"

"Yeah, you can get dressed now, go home."

Peter nodded. "O-Okay..."

He pulled the covers back, and stood.

"Woah..." Hesam muttered, "Must've, erm, been 'some dream' you were having..."

Peter looked down once he realized he was fully erect, and instantly covered himself down below.

Oh fuck.

"I-I..." Peter stuttered, "Just-Just _get_ _out_..."

"Okay, your clothes are on the chair. Your mother left them for you."

Peter nodded, as Hesam left, and shut the door.

Peter changed quickly, and then, headed back to the Petrelli mansion.

He had to sleep. Had to dream. Had to see Nathan.

And, maybe even more so now, had to find out what in the _fuck_ was going on with him and Sylar in that fucked-up future.

So he left the hospital, and went back to his mother's.

***

The front doors opened.

Angela sighed. "Peter, come in. I'll fix you something to eat. You _have_ to eat, dear."

What Peter REALLY needed to do was raid the wine cabinet, and he was definitely going to do that, too.

While Angela went into the kitchen, Peter walked over to the wine cooler, got out a bottle of 1917 chardonnay, and uncorked it, gathering a crystal glass into his left-hand before he poured it full to the point of the glass overflowing.

Peter didn't hesitate, and began to knock in back.

He had knocked back the entire glass and was already on his second when him mother came in, holding a tray.

"Peter...! What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?"

"It's—It's just to help me sleep, mom. After I eat, I'm gonna go back to sleep, so I can try to find Nathan again... This just... hasn't been working out so far... I've only been dreaming about Sylar of all people... some pretty weird, fucked-up shit, even."

"Language, Peter, language," Angela once again sighed, "I know that, Peter... I know. Pour yourself another glass, come over here and sit down, and for the love of God, _eat_. Eat, Peter. If you _must_ drink, don't do so on an empty stomach."

Peter nodded, pouring himself another glass of red wine before he walked over to the table and sat down next to Angela.

She had fixed Italian food.

That had been one of Nathan's favourites, along with Chinese.

Peter picked up the fork with his right-hand, and began to pick here and there at his spaghetti.

"Peter..." Angela began, seemingly deep in thought, "I... I was afraid of this. This was one of the reasons I didn't want you to take my ability. I've had the dreams about you and Sylar, too, Peter..."

Peter dropped his fork. "You-You have...?"

Angela nodded. "Yes, they started right after Thanksgiving. I was horrified, shocked. Why do you think I was so _desperate_ for you to kill Sylar that day at the hospital? Under any normal circumstances, I would have wanted you stay as far away from him as _possible_, but, I wanted him to die, in the hopes that this horrible future I had seen wouldn't come to pass."

"Thanksgiving?" Peter nearly spat, "And you didn't tell me _why...?_"

"Would you have believed me, Peter?"

Peter exhaled deeply, once again picking up his fork.

"Probably not..."

"Is this the future you want, Peter?"

"Of course not! I-I just want it to _stop_..."

"Good," Angela replied, "Which is why you must take Rene's ability back, and which is why you must kill Sylar, for good, so this won't happen. The dreams didn't stop there for me. I have _much_ more control over my ability than you ever had when you bore it. I've seen into the distant future. If you don't kill Sylar... if everything comes to pass... You change... You become... darker, like you had in the future before, new scar ripping your face in two, marking your severed soul," she spoke, staring at Peter as he tried his best to eat, "You were no longer that caring paramedic. Sylar's influence changes you, and you begin killing like you did in the future before."

Peter looked up. "W-What...?"

Angela nodded again. "Yes, Peter."

"Oh my God..." Peter muttered, having another go at his wine, until the glass was once again half-empty.

"Eat Peter, eat, don't just drink. Eat."

"...You actually expect to be _hungry_ after what we've dreamed?" Peter began, his voice harsh and angry, "What the fuck? In the future, not only am I FUCKING SYLAR and GETTING FUCKED by him, NOW you tell me I am KILLING innocent people!"

"_Calm_ down Peter, as I've said, the future isn't written in stone."

Peter chugged the rest of his wine, pulled out his chair, and then, ran out of the dining room and up the stairs.

He went back into the bedroom that he had been in the night before—Nathan's old bedroom, entered the adjacent bathroom, opened the medicine cabinet, and got out a small bottle of prescription sleeping pills. He took out three—five—and filled the small cup with water from the sink, before knocking the sedatives back.

He headed to bed, flopped down, got underneath the covers, and once again, waited for sleep to claim him...

***

_Peter heard a scream._

_A loud scream._

_A woman's scream._

_Peter was in somebody's apartment, in the kitchen._

_He heard that same scream again, and headed for the living room..._

_...To see Sylar, and his future self, telekinetically holding Tracy Strauss up against the wall._

"_Now, hold her there," Sylar instructed, "While I do my thing. I'm going to help you get all of your abilities back, Peter, help you. Help us, become the most unstoppable, powerful people in the entire world."_

"_O-Okay, Sylar... Anything you want... I'll do __**anything**__ for you, now..." future Peter shakily murmured._

_And then, Sylar began to cut. _

_Cut, cut, cut._

_Scream, scream, scream._

'_Oh my fucking __**God**__, what the __**hell**__ am I doing?' Peter thought as he watched the ongoing display of pure, unadulterated violence in horror and dismay._

_As soon as Sylar had finished cutting, he said, "Okay, release her."_

_And he did, and Tracy fell down to the floor._

_Sylar literally ripped off the top of her head, as he screamed in anguish._

"_Now Peter, take my base ability. Take the hunger."_

_Peter's fucking jaw dropped. Why in the __**hell**__ would he want the hunger again? After what it had __**done**__ to him? Turned him into? Made him kill __**Nathan**__ in the future?_

_Future Peter touched Sylar's face, absorbing his intuitive aptitude, before he approached Tracy._

"_Now __**look**__, Peter. Look, and observe."_

_Future Peter did, touching Tracy's exposed brain tissue with his delicate finger tips, digging, digging, digging around in her mind._

"_I-I __**understand**__... I __**see**__ it."_

_Peter opened his left-hand, and it turned blue, appearing as if it were frozen._

_Sylar then examined Tracy's mind as well, and, when he was through with her like the piece of trash Peter suspected Sylar figured her to be, ripped out her mind._

_Peter wanted to vomit._

_And he did._

_With blood covering the both of their hands, Sylar and future Peter attacked one another's lips._

_Oh, fuck, they were going to fuck there and then, weren't they?_

_They kissed their ways to Tracy's couch, before Sylar pushed future Peter down upon it, and began tearing at his clothes._

'_Make it stop make it stop MAKE IT STOP!' Peter mentally screamed to himself, closing his eyes and concentrating hard._

_And just like that, it stopped._

_***_

'_**Now**__ where am I...?'_

_But Peter didn't have to guess._

_He was in a strip club._

_Well, at least the __**last**__ part of the nightmare had stopped..._

_But what the hell was Peter doing in a strip club? He didn't go to strip clubs... That had been Nathan's thing, and, as much as Nathan had tried to get Peter to go with him, Nathan had always been met with a resounding 'no' every single time._

_Peter sat down in one of the booths directly before the main stage, wondering __**why**__ he was dreaming about a strip club. Also, there was no future Peter this time. No future Sylar. And most of all, no past Nathan..._

_Suddenly, Peter jumped in his seat, as a man next to him shimmered into visibility._

_And it was Peter—well—__**future**__ Peter, wearing all black. Black jeans, a black shirt, and a long, buttoned up black trench coat. His hair was also slicked back with gel, and he appeared slightly older than he had been before. Thirty-three or thirty-five, Peter guessed. He also had a pass around his neck, indicating that he actually __**worked**__ in that godforsaken strip club._

"_And now, give it up for the main event, Bella!"_

_Men began to surround the stage, and, they were drooling like a bunch of drunken __**idiots**__. Peter only hoped Nathan hadn't been like this._

_Music began to play, and sadly enough, Peter recognized it. It was "Tainted Love" by Marilyn Manson. What a weird choice for a stripper to dance to. Dark song._

_Dark stripper._

_The stripper came out on stage, wearing a long, black coat. She opened it, and the men swooned. The coat fell to the floor. She, like future Peter, was wearing all black. A black corset, black stockings, black garter belt, black gloves, black, leather boots, and she had long, black hair that draped down to lower back._

_She did a swing around the poll, and once again, the men swooned. She began dancing for them, as they slipped hundred-dollar bills into her boots and garter belt._

"_**Once I ran to you, I ran, now I run from you, I run, this tainted love you give me I give you all a boy could give you take my tears and that's not nearly ooh tainted love. Tainted love..."**_

_The song and the dancing continued, as Peter looked at himself. His future self appeared calm, collected, drinking another scotch, but he was __**still**__ obviously __**very**__ interested in the ongoing show. There was also this funny, dark smirk on his face, as if he knew something the other men didn't._

_Bella unsnapped her corset, revealing her large breasts, and then men __**really**__ began to holler._

_And, hell, Peter could tell his future self was __**really**__ getting off on this._

_A redhead came over to future Peter, and sat down in his lap._

"_Hey Peter, want a private dance?"_

"_You know I only accept dances from Bella," future Peter chuckled, darkly, "But here's a tip anyway for your trouble," he said, slipping two-hundred dollars into the rim of her tight purple top. "Now, be an angel and get me another scotch, will you?"_

"_Sure thing, hon," the woman said, kissing future Peter on the cheek before she left._

_A man then jumped on stage, and tried to grope the dancer, before Peter's future self stood and angrily waved his hand._

_The man went flying off the stage._

_**Telekinesis?**__ Three, five years down the road and Peter __**still**__ had Sylar's telekinesis? Surely he would have picked up another ability by now..._

_...Unless he had killed someone to get it._

_Future Peter had invisibility, after all, and now freezing, too. Fuck, what had Sylar turned him into?_

_Peter shuttered._

_The song finally ended, and Bella, rather than going back stage, picked up her clothes, put them back on, stepped down, and walked over to where Peter and future Peter were seated._

_She sat down in future Peter's lap, her legs on either said of him as they began to make-out._

_Okay... so again, what the __**fuck**__ was going on here?_

_First, Sylar had inexplicably saved Peter's life, then, Peter was raping him, then, Peter was making love to him consensually, and then, Peter was helping Sylar kill an innocent woman, and now, Peter was a __**bouncer**__ at some strip club, __**fucking**__ one of the strippers? Where __**was**__ future Sylar, anyway? Had they broken up over the years? Finally gone their separate ways?_

_Well, thank __**God**__ for that, at least._

_Bella and future Peter broke apart, before future Peter said, "God I love Las Vegas. Let's go to one of the VIPs and fuck. Celebrate our victory. Took us four years, but we found him."_

_She grinned. "Fuck yeah, let's fuck."_

_And so they stood, and, so Peter stood, following them._

_Following them through the strip club, through a beaded curtain into a hallway, down the hall, and into one of the back, VIP rooms._

_And, God, the door even had Peter's __**name**__ on it._

_The door opened, and Peter followed Bella and his future self into the room, before future Peter slammed the door shut._

_Future Peter walked over to a counter, and picked up a bottle, pouring himself another scotch. From what Peter could tell, his recent drinking had caught up with him over the years. His future self was knocking back alcohol like some sort of sot._

"_You were so fucking __**sexy**__ out there," future Peter said as he knocked back his drink, "Gotta fuck you, but not like this."_

"_Why not? You know I've always wanted to try it..."_

"_You know why. How would you like to do me like that?"_

"_Kinky."_

_Future Peter grinned, walking over to Bella before they kissed again._

_And then, future Peter shapeshifted, into some... tall, skinny but well-built blonde woman, as he—she—and Bella continued to kiss, ardently._

_Okay... so now, this was __**really**__, __**REALLY**__ fucked-up, Peter thought. He wasn't even gay, much less a __**lesbian**__, so again, what-the-hell...?_

"_Kinky," Bella repeated, licking future Peter's polished lips, "You wanna try fucking like this?"_

"_Maybe some time, but not now," future Peter responded, shapeshifting back into himself. "Now, come out of there so I can fuck the real you."_

_...And then, Bella shapeshifted into Sylar._

_Peter's fucking jaw dropped, a-gain._

_Oh __**GOD**__ this was __**perverted**__._

_Future Peter and Sylar kissed some more, before future Peter began pushing Sylar backwards, towards a bed in the corner that was outlined with pink curtains. Future Peter pushed Sylar through them, as they both fell down on the bed, future Peter on top._

"_God you are so goddamned sexy, Sylar," future Peter groaned, grinding down into Sylar as Sylar gasped in pleasure. "Gonna fuck you __**so**__ fucking hard."_

"_Yes, Peter, fuck the __**hell**__ out of me. Fuck me until I __**bleed**__."_

"_Yeah, I __**will**__," future Peter smirked, "We need to celebrate. Took us four fucking __**years**__ to find Claude, after all."_

_Peter's eyes widened. Claude? Claude Rains? Future Peter and future Sylar and __**killed Claude...?**_

"_Let's __**play**__," Sylar chuckled, before he turned invisible._

_Future Peter grinned, darkly, and then shimmered out of visibility as well._

_Peter could no longer see them now, and, hell, he didn't __**want**__ to..._

_After that, all Peter could do was listen to their loud, passionate moans._

***

Peter opened his eyes, looking at the clock. It was nearly 7:00 A.M.. Damn, Peter had been asleep for over ten hours.

Peter sat up, and stretched out either of his arms.

And, oh, God...

So now, he wasn't only _Sylar's_ lover and a _killer_, but a _bouncer_ at some strip club? Fucking Sylar, a-gain, who was _working_ at the strip club _as_ one of the strippers...?

THAT was too fucked-up for words...

Peter got out of bed, brushed his teeth, and then, went downstairs.

His mother was already up, or so it seemed, and breakfast was already on the table.

Angela eyed her remaining son, and said, "Good morning, Peter. Sit. Eat. _Please_ eat, dear, you didn't last night, and you just _have_ to eat."

"No, I have to _dream_," Peter answered, walking over to the wine cooler.

Angela frowned. "Peter, what the _fuck_ are you doing?"

Angela cussed.

She never cussed.

Hence, she was angry.

Very, _very_ angry.

"What the hell does it look like, mom? I'm getting a drink so I can go back to sleep."

Angela groaned. "And I always thought Nathan was the one with alcohol problems. If only you still had Claire's ability then drinking would mean nothing to you."

"Well thanks to dad, that's not a problem anymore," Peter replied, uncorking a bottle of wine before he poured away, drank away.

He grasped the bottle, the glass, and then began to walk out of the dining room.

"Goddamnit, Peter, you just _have_ to eat first!"

"No, mom, I'm going upstairs, and I am going back to _sleep_."

And with that said, Peter headed back up the stairs, back into the bedroom from which he had came.

He set the bottle and the crystal down on the nightstand, and then, went into the bathroom, once again getting those motherfucking sedatives. He returned, sitting down on the bed. He unscrewed the cap from the pill bottle, and popped a few of the white pills into his mouth, before he downed them with wine. Peter had several more glasses, before he lay back down, waiting for sleep to claim him once again.

And like always, it did.

***

'_Oh my... oh my God... I'm—I'm in Costa Verde, the Bennet house, like I was four years in the future. What's going on...?'_

_Peter suddenly heard a cry, but this time, it was a baby's cry._

_Sylar, once again wearing a ridiculously __**gay**__ apron and a pair of black glasses came into the living room, approaching a crib. He picked up a small infant, and held the child in his arms._

"_Sssh, sssh, it's okay, champ, don't cry, daddy's here."_

_Daddy...?_

_**Sylar**__ was a __**father**__ again?_

_Sylar rocked the baby in his arms, humming some happy lullaby, until the child finally stopped crying. Sylar kissed the baby's forehead, and then whispered, "Sleep now, Noah."_

_Sylar giggled adorably (huh...?), before he went into the kitchen, and began to cook. Waffles. Of course._

_Mr. Muggles then ran up to Sylar._

_Sylar kneeled down, a fork and a small piece of waffles on it in his left-hand._

"_Who wants some waffles?"_

_Sylar giggled again as Mr. Muggles ate it up, kissing the dog._

_A woman walked into the kitchen, and, fuck, it was that same woman from the carnival. That woman with the beautiful tattoos, Lydia._

"_Good morning," Lydia said, walking up to Sylar. She put her arms around his neck, as Sylar's arms wrapped around her waist, tightly, and then, they kissed._

_Okay, so now Peter was __**really**__ fucking confused._

"_God, Lydia, you always look so __**beautiful**__," Sylar whispered against her lips. "You want some waffles?"_

_Lydia chuckled. "You know I do, hon."_

_And then, suddenly, the front door slammed open..._

_...As future Peter entered, appearing __**out of his mind.**_

_Sylar eyed Peter, and groaned. "Peter, what the hell are you doing back here?"_

"_You __**can't**__ keep me away, __**Sylar**__," future Peter smirked, appearing dazed and disoriented, "You're __**mine**__. Always have been, always __**will**__ be."_

"_**Gabriel**__, Peter, my name is __**Gabriel**__. Sylar is dead. And, don't start again. We're not together anymore, I don't... I don't want you anymore... We're through. We're finished. For good. That part of my life is over now. I have a son now, and he needs me more than you do."_

_Future Lydia looked at Peter, and frowned. "What's he doing here again, Gabriel?"_

_Future Peter smirked. "See your whore is still here."_

_Lydia smirked back. "I'd rather be his whore than he yours."_

_Peter opened his hands, and they filled with flames._

_And then, Sylar's did the same._

_Okay, so, fuck, now Peter had even MORE abilities? Had he killed THAT many people over the years...?_

"_Don't even __**think**__ about it, Peter," Sylar said in a threatening manner, "You need to __**leave**__. Now. I-I still love you, just not in the way I once did. I'll help you, Peter, help you get your life back. You need __**help**__. I got you your __**empathy**__ back, you __**don't**__ have to kill anymore to get abilities. Please, let me __**help**__ you, Peter."_

"_I don't __**need**__ any fucking help!" future Peter shouted. The flames went away, and he walked over to the crib, picking up the baby. "Hey there, Noah. Miss me? I missed you. __**Love**__ you so __**much**__."_

"_Put him DOWN, Peter," Sylar snapped out, "I __**mean**__ it."_

_Future Peter kissed the baby lightly on the forehead, and then, placed him back into the crib, smiling lovingly as he tucked him underneath the blanket._

"_Get the HELL out of our house, Peter," Lydia ordered, "Gabriel doesn't want anything to DO with you anymore, and neither do I. You're __**insane**__, and you're a filthy __**murderer**__, just like __**Samuel**__ was."_

"_Gabriel's a __**murderer**__, too."_

"_I __**stopped**__, Peter, I __**stopped**__ a __**long**__ time ago," Sylar said with a stern expression, "And you can, too. You can get your hunger under control. You're __**out**__ of control, Peter. Hell, you're a __**terrorist!**__ I don't want you bringing Claire and Rene and their crazy colleagues into my home, around my son, my wife."_

"_Your wife's a good for nothing __**slut**__," future Peter lashed out. "And when she leaves you, you'll be __**crawling**__ back to me."_

_Okay, so what the hell was this? So, future Sylar—or future 'Gabriel' now—had left future Peter for future Lydia, had a child with her, and now, future Peter was desperate to get future Gabriel back...?_

_Yeah... Peter was __**pretty fucking **__**confused**__, alright..._

_He never, not a million years, would have foreseen his future to be anything __**remotely**__ like this._

_This was crazy, wrong, and most of all, __**ridiculous**__._

_Again, Peter didn't want Sylar. The only 'want' Peter felt for Sylar was the fact that he 'wanted' him __**dead**__._

_And, once again, __**Sylar**__ the __hero__ and __**Peter**__ the __villain__...?_

"_I think I'll stay for breakfast," future Peter smirked as he walked through the living room and entered the kitchen, sitting down._

_Gabriel and Lydia could only groan again._

"_Fine, Peter, but you have to __**behave**__ yourself, and you have to be __**civilized**__ to my wife."_

_Future Peter seemed to snarl and the sound of the words 'my wife'._

"_Fine, 'Gabriel', I can be civilized."_

"_I highly doubt that," Lydia muttered, "But, fine, you can stay just for breakfast. You better behave, though, I've given you __**so**__ many chances, Peter, for Gabriel's sake, and every time, you disappoint me."_

_Gabriel then spun around, finishing up his cooking. For long, future Peter, future Lydia, and future Gabriel were all eating waffles and drinking orange juice in the kitchen, not uttering a single word._

_Then, the baby—Noah—began to cry again._

"_He's probably hungry," Gabriel chuckled._

"_Can I feed him?" future Peter inquired, sounding hopeful._

_Gabriel looked at his wife for permission, and then looked back at Peter, saying, "You may."_

_And so he did._

_As Peter watched his future self feed the baby with a bottle, Peter swore he had never seen such __**love**__ in anyone's eyes, especially his, not for Simone, not for Caitlin._

_Not since... not since __**Nathan**__..._

_And then, bright, illuminating colours began to fill the room, and once again, Peter knew the dream was changing as it had before._

_He almost __**couldn't**__ wait for what he was next in store for..._

_***_

_Peter looked around._

_Okay, so now, he __**definitely**__ knew where he was._

_Okay... he didn't, but he knew what was going on._

_He was at a funeral._

_It thundered, as Peter walked through the collected crowd of people and toward the coffin, so he could take a peek at whom was inside. God, was he finally dead? Was future Sylar?_

_They both deserved it._

_Or..._

_Peter looked into the coffin._

_It was definitely a woman, but, she appeared so __**old**__... At least seventy._

_Peter rose from his kneeling position, looking for any sign of his future self, of Sylar._

_And then he saw them._

_They were standing together, with another man, who appeared to be in his late thirties. Also a woman, who appeared to be around the age of fifty._

_The man wiped a few tears from his face, as future Peter embraced him._

"_Sssh, it's okay, Noah, everything's going to be okay..." future Peter whispered into the man's hair._

"_Thank you, Uncle Peter..."_

_Peter blinked._

_God, so where was he in this dream? Forty years in the future?_

_Peter looked at his future self, at Gabriel's future self, and, God, they still appeared to be in their thirties. Noah looked even older than they were now._

_And, Gabriel... he looked so sad... It was a look Peter hadn't seen on his face since that day, four years in the future, when Knox Washington had murdered his son... Fuck, that had been __**horrible**__. Peter had felt so, so __**sorry**__ for Sylar, so very __**sorry**__..._

_And now, he did once again._

_Peter could tell that, in the future, he had apparently, somehow, regained all of his previous abilities, that and more, including the ability of cellular regeneration now. He could only guess that he had either used Sylar's intuitive aptitude to kill over a course of time, stealing abilities the way Sylar had, or, what suddenly seemed more plausible, he had finally __**fixed**__ his empathy, as Sylar—Gabriel—had said._

_Had __**Sylar**__ of all people been the reason for this? Peter had gotten back in touch with his empathy through __**Sylar...?**_

_Hell?_

_Peter had been kidding when he had said that before..._

_But now..._

_Hell?_

_It thundered again, and began to rain, as everyone opened their umbrellas._

_Peter didn't get wet, though, as the rain seemed to phase right through him, as if he wasn't even there._

_Gabriel hugged the elderly woman, and then said, "Don't worry, Amanda... Every—Everything's going to be fine..."_

_Peter continued to watch his future self, wondering if, if he did get back his ability to heal, if __**this**__ was really what it was going to be like for him. Waiting, watching... watching everyone he loved around him die for an eternity. Having no one to share that eternity with except for Claire and Sylar, and whoever else in the world possibility had their ability to regenerate, like Adam Monroe had._

_It suddenly seemed like a curse._

_Adam had told Peter what all he'd seen over the years, all the wars, the devastation, the destruction, and it had honestly sounded like a nightmare. A nightmare that __**never**__ ended, that __**would**__ never end._

_That __**could**__ never end._

_No matter how badly he wanted it to._

_Peter closed his eyes, and concentrated. He had to get... had to get __**control**__ of this precognition, the way his mother had._

'_Show me what happens after this. I __**need**__ to see. Show me, __**please**__...'_

_***_

"_It's been over a month, Gabriel, you've __**got**__ to get yourself together. I-I've never seen you like this before..."_

"_What was I thinking, Peter?!" Gabriel shouted, throwing his hands into the air, "What was I __**thinking**__ when I took Claire's ability? I __**don't**__ want to live forever! I just want to __**DIE!**__**Look**__ at us, Peter. __**Both**__ of us. We are __**FUCKED!**__ I-I have to find somebody... somebody with the same power as Arthur Petrelli had, get him to take my abilities away... Then I'll die instantly..."_

"_Calm down! And DON'T you EVEN go fucking __**THINKING**__ that!" future Peter shouted, before he lowered his voice to a hushed whisper, "Just... __**don't**__, and calm down. Everything's going to be fine, Gabriel. I'm here for you, haven't always been, but always __**will**__ be."_

_Peter looked around. As far he could tell, they were in some sort of apartment. His future self's apartment, he suspected, only it wasn't his apartment from the __**present**__. Had he... had he actually moved to Costa Verde to be with __**Sylar**__ of all people?_

_Peter continued to stare as future Peter wrapped his arms around Gabriel, as Gabriel hugged him back. The embrace lasted for a small eternity in itself. Then, future Peter pulled back slightly, looking Gabriel in the eyes, their faces less than an inch apart._

_And Peter wasn't the least bit surprised, for some reason, when his future self made the first move and went in for the kiss._

_Gabriel, surprisingly enough, kissed him back, opening his mouth as future Peter did the same. They kissed hungrily, like it had been __**ages**__ since they last had, and that, Peter supposed, was probably true._

"_Peter..."_

"_Oh God Gabriel I have waited so __**long**__ to have you again. So.. fucking.. __**long**__," future Peter growled, his voice full of passion, of __**lust**__._

_Future Peter dragged Gabriel toward the bed, and, with some form of superstrength, tossed him down upon it. Future Peter covered Gabriel like an animal, flipping him onto his stomach as he __**ripped**__ the jeans halfway off of him with his strength, partially exposing Gabriel's lower half._

_Peter's future self then unzipped his own jeans, and present Peter, the one in this... strange dream, knew what came next._

_A-gain._

"_P-Peter, __**stop**__... we-we __**can't**__..." Gabriel murmured._

'_Oh, God, he wants it __**bad**__,' Peter thought._

_And Gabriel did, too._

_Peter watched in shock and yet partial fascination as his future self entered Gabriel raw, not even taking the time to prepare him, but he figured his future self was too filled with unmodified lust to give a damn._

"_Peter, __**stop!**__ It-It __**hurts!**__"_

"_Sssh, you know it only hurts for second, Gabriel, __**my**__ sweet Gabriel..." future Peter whispered, stroking a hand down Gabriel's back, "It's just been so long since you've done this that it's going to be a bit strange at first. You'll get used to it all over again... I lost you once. __**Won't**__ lose you again. __**Ever**__."_

_And then, future Peter began to thrust._

_Not too hard, not too gently._

_Gabriel continued to writhe and scream in pain for only a minute longer, before his contorted look of discomfort and endless cries of agony began to fade, transpiring into a look of bliss and moans of pleasure._

_Well, Peter figured it __**did**__ figure._

_Hell, after what he'd seen on this crazy, psychic journey so far... Gabriel was obviously desperately in love with future Peter, and future Peter desperately in love with Gabriel._

_Especially now._

_Peter continued watch as his future self and Sylar's future self made love, until future Peter sat back, grabbing Gabriel's wrists and pulling him to his knees, future Peter's chest against Gabriel's back as he fucked him that way, and Gabriel moaned, God, did he ever __**moan**__, moving in tandem with future Peter's sharp thrusts as he rocked his body, up and down, his head falling back against future Peter's shoulder and his dark, parted hair coming out from behind his ear on one side to shield his face completely._

"_Oh-Oh God..." Peter moaned to himself as he watched, "I want what he—__**I**__—have, in the future. Now."_

_Finally, future Peter came, throwing his head back and calling out Gabriel's name._

_Then, the Peter of the future wasted no time, as he pushed Gabriel back down to the bed, __**tore**__ his own pants from his body, flipped Gabriel over, straddled him, and literally __**climbed on board**__._

_Peter was __**stunned**__ at how badly he seemed to want this._

"_Peter... oh __**God**__ Peter..." Gabriel moaned, gripping future Peter's hips as Peter's future self began to ride away._

"_Oh Gabriel... been so fucking __**long**__ since I've done this..." future Peter hissed, his voice full of pleasure, of pain, "Haven't done this with anyone... since you. There was only you, Gabriel. Always and forever. Only.. __**you**__.."_

_Peter sighed. Fuck, he was getting turned on again. Peter rearranged himself in his pants, and continued to watch the intimate ongoings before him. He suddenly found himself wishing that he had been, and was, in his future self's place, and that __**appalled**__ Peter to the core._

_Future Peter placed his hands on Gabriel's chest as he continued to ride the man beneath him, Gabriel's hands caressing his hips, his sides, his chest. Then, Peter's future self leaned over Gabriel, smashing their lips together once again as their love making went on and on and on. Gabriel's arms wrapped around future Peter, pulling him closer as they kissed, as he thrusted up into the smaller man._

_Their passionate moans and cries of passion were almost enough to drown out Peter's very thoughts entirely._

_He briefly wondered if he'd __**ever**__ encounter Nathan on this __**insane**__ journey of his through the dream world. He'd keep trying, even if he had to watch himself fucking Sylar one thousand, five thousand years from now._

_And he probably still would be._

'_Nathan, oh God, Nathan, I need your __**help**__ so fucking __**bad**__... I'm so... so __**lost**__, so __**confused**__ without you Nathan, especially __**now**__... I'll __**find**__ you, Nate, don't you worry...'_

'_I __**will**__find you__.'_

***

A splash of freezing cold water.

Peter jumped up in bed.

"What?! Huh?!"

"_Finally_ you're awake."

"Huh?" Peter repeated, "Mom?"

Angela sighed, running hand back through her redish-brown hair, holding an empty paper cup in the other. "Peter, you've been asleep for _hours_ on end. I see you've taken pills. Too many pills. You really want to die? Are you really willing to risk killing yourself just to see Nathan again?"

Peter nodded. "Absolutely."

"It won't work, you know," Angela began, before she explained, "When you're under sedation, you won't be able to achieve the level needed to make contact with another in the dreams. For that to happen, you need to be lucid, the sleep has to be natural. I explained this to you in the church when Danko's men were after us. If you continue going in intoxicated and under the influence of drugs, even if you do find Nathan, he _won't_ be able to see you."

"...Well why the HELL didn't you tell me that, mom?!"

"Because—Because Nathan won't be the only one who's able to see you, then, if you in fact gain enough power over my ability to make that possible. I was—am afraid—that you'll do something foolish like you always do."

Angela was going to say 'dream manipulation on a certain someone', but she didn't. If Peter didn't already have the idea in his head, Angela didn't want to put it there. When Peter had still had his empathic mimicry, and Angela's power along with it, he had never gained enough control over the precognitive and postcognitive dreams to manipulate other people's dreams, but Angela was afraid Peter would eventually discover how.

"Fuck," Peter cursed, slamming his fist down into the mattress, "I _have_ to see Nathan, mom. So far, all I've dreamed about is more of that sick shit between me and Sylar. Apparently now, I'm helping him raise a son in the future, even..."

Angela nodded. "I know that, Peter. His name is Noah Brian Gray."

"...How fucking _long_ exactly have you known about all this shit, mom? You have _no fucking right_ to _keep_ things about MY life from ME!"

"Language, dear, language."

"Who gives a FUCK about my language, mom?!" Peter complained, glaring at his mother, "In the future, I am FUCKING the man I HATE more than ANY other in the WORLD, the man who KILLED my BROTHER! Does that seem _natural_ to you?!"

"Come downstairs and, for the love of God, _eat_, Peter," Angela demanded, promptly changing the disquieting subject, "And it's no use sedating yourself again. I've hid every prescription in this house, and locked the wine cabinets, so no more of that for you. You are going to eat something if it _kills_ me, Peter. You also missed work, so I had to call in for you. I told the hospital you weren't feeling well, and they gave you an extra shift this Friday night."

Peter sighed. "Thanks, mom. I-I'm sorry... Really, I am, it's just... My God, me and Sylar...?"

"Let's not think about it, Peter. Now, come downstairs and eat. I've fixed you a big breakfast."

Peter nodded wearily, and got out of bed, following his mother out of the bedroom, down the hall, and down the stairs, until they entered the dining room.

"Goddamnit..." Peter cursed, despite the way his mother had been scolding him about his recent choice in words, "Why did you have to make _waffles_ of all things...?"

"What's the matter, don't like them?"

"You must not have dreamed about 'Gabriel Gray's' cooking yet..." Peter sighed still more, pulling out a chair and sitting at the end of the table.

Angela sighed back. "I'm sorry Peter, I haven't seen that. Does Sylar cook waffles often in the future?"

"Yes, he does. I've seen it not only in the dream, but in the future when my future self took me there last time. He was so... _different_, mom..." Peter began, the glance of his eyes drifting aside, "He... had stopped killing, didn't want to give me his ability for the sake of my soul, didn't want to damn me the way he was damned. The first thing he did when I entered his house was wrap his arms around me. From what I can tell in the dreams, he's changed again. He's once again stopped killing, once again reassumed his identity as Gabriel Gray..." he muttered, brow knitting in confusion, in bewilderment, "In the first part of my last dream, it seemed like... like I was still killing even after Sylar had stopped... And-And I had become a _terrorist_ again... I-I'm still not completely sure if I stopped all that, going by the rest of the dream... Sylar was also married for awhile to this woman from the Sullivan Bros. Carnival, but as time went by, she aged when Sylar didn't, and she... died... I saw her funeral, and Sylar looked so-so sad... Then, he said that taking Claire's ability had been a mistake, that now, he just wanted to _die_. I... I don't know, mom, if Sylar's really going to change... maybe—maybe there's no need to kill him anymore... I _can't_ kill a man who's asking for redemption..."

Angela shook her head following her son's words. "No, Peter, Sylar _has_ to die. At all costs. As I've said, as soon as you get this silly 'dream' nonsense out of your system, you are _going_ to take back Rene's ability, hunt Sylar down, and kill him. If you don't, he will kill you first."

"I-I don't think he will, mom..." Peter murmured, "I don't think he will. I... really don't... Like I told you, in the first dream I had, Sylar told me he had decided to let me live since the suffering he could put me through in death is nothing compared to the agony I already feel in life over Nathan's death. He wants me to live with it, forever... He wants the worst thing possible for me, and that _is_ the worst thing possible for me..."

"What about all of the other innocent people Sylar will brutally slaughter over the years to come if you don't kill him? Forget about his 'redemption', Peter, think about _now_. Think about what he will do up _until_ that point. How many people will he kill? Thirty? Fifty? One-hundred? You can _save_ them, Peter, you can save them _all_. Sometimes the lives of a few must be sacrificed to save the lives of many."

"The hell with that," Peter argued, slamming his fist down to the table top, "That's the same _crap_ you spewed at me and Nathan when you wanted to blow up New York City. The same _crap_ Adam threw at me when he wanted to release the virus, only in reverse. After-After seeing Sylar, as Gabriel, in the future, with a wife and a _child_... I don't think I _could_ kill him, no matter _how_ badly a part of me still, and will always, want to. Now, what I want more than anything besides the chance to visit Nathan in a postcognitive dream is to stop Ga—Sylar and I from ever entering some sort of sick 'relationship' with one another. I'd still rather die than have that happen."

Angela rubbed her temple, and exhaled a breath of air. "If you won't kill him, I'll get Noah and Rene, even Claire, or someone else to do it, Peter. He has to die, and that's a fact."

Peter smirked. "This is really all about _you_, isn't it? You know Sylar wants you dead for sure after what you did to him, and you know he won't rest until you _are_ dead. You're only worried about saving your _own_ life, mom."

Angela rolled her eyes. "Of _course_ I know that, Peter, and of _course_ I don't want to die. You are right. Sylar will kill me if he isn't killed first. But like I said, I won't be the only one he kills. I'd gladly die if I knew my life would save all of the innocents Sylar will undoubtedly kill in the time to come, but, that is not the case. My death would be meaningless. Now, enough of this. Eat Peter, _eat_."

"Fine, mom, I'll 'eat' already," Peter grumbled, picking up the fork with his left hand, the knife with his right, beginning to cut at his strawberry waffles.

Peter actually was rather hungry, so he ate two helpings finally, along with eggs over hard, and a glass of orange juice. Angela, on the other hand, barely ate a thing. The conversation she had just had with Peter having taken her appetite away.

She was still convinced her youngest son, God bless his soul, was still the only 'one of us' who was capable of stopping Sylar, of killing him. Noah, Rene, and Claire could try, yes, but... Peter was still _the one_. It was his _destiny_, and she had to get him to _accept_ his fate.

The rest of the day progressed _agonizingly_ slow.

Much to Peter's dismay.

At seven P.M., he finally ended up on the couch in front of the T.V. watching General Hospital with a pint of Ben & Jerry's Cherry Garcia ice-cream.

When the show was over, Peter watched the news.

Great.

Fucking great.

Another killing.

A man, found in his house. Wife dead. Child scared shitless in protective custody. Head cut open.

Fuck, what was Peter to do?

Maybe... maybe Sylar _did_ have to die... Nathan was gone now, Peter had reached the fifth stage, but if Sylar died, Gabriel Gray and his unborn son died right along with him, and that made Peter sick.

He ate some more ice-cream, until it was all gone.

He lay down on the couch, turning the channel to some random infomercial about Oxy Clean.

He closed his eyes, and another thirty minutes later, had drifted off once again...

***

_Peter looked around._

_This dream was so much more __**vivid**__ than his previous dreams..._

_He was in a hospital, having no clue as to what city, much less what year, he was having a vision of._

"_It won't be long now, Mr. Gray, Mr. Petrelli. All we can do now is keep him comfortable."_

"_I-I understand..."_

_Peter's brow furrowed, and he walked down the hallway a few feet, turning to his right to look through the open doorway, inside of a room._

_And there, was future Peter and future Gabriel, seated next to a bed where an elderly man lay, hooked up to various tubes, IVs, and machines._

_The nurse adjusted something on one of the IV bags, briefly touched Gabriel's shoulder, and then, left the room._

"_How are you feeling, champ?" Gabriel whispered, his hands on the bed's railing._

"_Fine, dad," the man who Peter now knew just had to be Noah Gray responded._

"_That's great," future Peter said with a smile._

"_Hey Uncle Peter, want the rest of your coffee?" Noah asked with a likewise smile._

"_Sure, Noah."_

_And suddenly, the coffee that had been resting over on a nightstand appeared in Noah's hand..._

_Peter's eyes widened. Noah had an ability? The ability to teleport objects with his mind?_

_**Amazing**__._

_But it didn't bedazzle Peter, both of Noah's parents had abilities, after all._

"_Thanks, Noah," future Peter said as Noah handed him the coffee, before future Peter took a sip. "You always were so amazing, even more so than me."_

"_You know that's not true, Uncle Peter. You and dad are the most special people in the __**world**__."_

"_You're special too, son," Gabriel said, cupping the side of Noah's face, as Noah chuckled. He put his hand over the closed novel in his lap, and it teleported, reappearing on the adjacent nightstand. Then, an apple teleported into his hand, and he took a bite out of it._

"_God, you both are just so lucky, dad, Uncle Peter," Noah said in between bites of his fruit, "You both have so many wonderful abilities, and you get to live __**forever**__. Even with the hunger, it's not so bad..."_

"_I remember when you were in high school, and you first discovered your ability..." Gabriel began, thinking back in retrospect, "You were in advanced chem., and you didn't feel like getting up to get a beaker. Then, you just thought about it being before you, and it suddenly was. You were so freaked out," he chuckled, shaking his head before he pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, "You came home and told your uncle, mother and me what had happened, and we explained everything to you. I moved things with my mind for you. Peter painted a pretty picture of the future for you. Your mother touched you and told you your deepest desires. You were in awe."_

"_I wouldn't have traded my life for anything, you know," Noah rest-assured, "I've had a very fulfilling life, had a beautiful wife, two daughters, five grandchildren... And the most wonderful dad and uncle in the world, the most __**amazing**__ dad and uncle in the world. My life has been __**perfect**__, and I have __**no**__ regrets. Just know that. I'll be gone soon, but I don't want either of you to be sad. Don't morn my death, please, that would __**kill**__ me inside..."_

"_If-If only you had been an empath like your uncle and me..." Gabriel whispered regretfully nonetheless._

_Noah smiled, but then, his smile faded rapidly, and he began to shake._

"_Oh my God, Peter, he's having another heart-attack, get help!" Gabriel shouted hysterically._

_Future Peter stood, and ran out of the room, right through present Peter's image._

_Gabriel stood, placed the palms of his hands over Noah's chest, and began to send electrical shocks through his body, trying to restart his heart._

_He seized doing this when a doctor and several RNs ran into the room._

"_Get a crash cart," the doctor said, before paddles were handed to him. "Clear."_

_A shock._

_Nothing._

"_Crank it up. Clear."_

_A shock._

_Nothing._

"_And clear."_

_Another shock._

_Still nothing._

"_One last time, and clear."_

_Yet another shock._

_Sadly nothing._

_Flat-line._

"_Alright, that's it, time of death 10:32 A.M."_

"_No, try again, you __**have**__ to keep trying!" Gabriel shouted, "Please!"_

_He began to lose it, as future Peter grasped him to stop his spontaneous outburst._

"_We're terribly sorry, Mr. Gray, but your father is dead," the doctor stated, "Again, I'm sorry. We'll give you and your brother a few minutes before we come for him. Nurses, let's go."_

_And then, with the exception of future Peter and future Gabriel, along with present Peter himself, the room was vacated._

_Peter stood, and, God, he was so lost, so __**sad**__... But still, what was going on? Noah had been posing as Gabriel's __**father?**__ And future Peter and Gabriel were posing as __**brothers...?**__ But they __**weren't.**__ Peter and Sylar had already been through that charade once. Why ever would future Peter want to fall back into that horrible __**illusion?**__**Especially**__ if they were... yeah... 'together'... That just made their 'relationship' all the more disgraceful, disgusting._

_Gabriel touched Noah's face again, before he broke down completely. He began to sob, burying his face in future Peter's chest as Peter's future self held him, tightly._

"_God, Peter, __**hold**__ me. Hold me, Peter, and never let go..." Gabriel cried, clutching future Peter for dear life._

"_It-It's okay, Gabriel... Everything's—Everything's going to be okay..." future Peter whispered into Gabriel's dark fringe of hair, "It's okay..."_

_And then, future Peter began to sob as well._

_Peter stood, and watched, his eyes tearing. God, this was so __**sad**__... Sylar was so __**sad**__... His future self was so __**sad**__... They were in pain, in __**agony**__, and there was __**nothing**__ Peter could do about it._

_A single tear trailed its way down Peter's face, and he wiped it off with the back of his hand._

'_I-I don't want to see anymore of this. I can't-I can't __**take**__ it. It's too __**painful**__ to see Sylar and myself like this. Make it stop make it stop make it stop. Take me away from here, into the future, into the past, anywhere that is __**not**__.. __**here**__..'_

_Peter closed his eyes, and concentrated, __**hard**__, trying to dream of another point in time._

_And then, he __**did**__._

_***_

_Peter examined his new surroundings._

_He was standing under a weeping willow, in a park._

_He looked around. The buildings and skyscrapers seemed taller than ever, buildings were there that hadn't been there in the years before, and rockets were zooming through the slightly smoggy sky._

_To the moon._

_Peter looked right, and there, in the trunk of the willow tree, was the carved initials of 'PP plus GG.'_

'_Peter Petrelli plus Gabriel Gray...' Peter thought to himself, trying to touch the indentions._

_His hand went right through the tree._

'_Concentrate, Peter, mom said you had to gain control of the dreams.'_

_So Peter concentrated harder, until finally, his hand didn't phase through the bark._

_He traced the outline of the initials with his fingertips gently, still so confused, before he turned his head once again._

_Peter looked out into the park, and saw a bench, next to a flowing river, and on that bench, was a man, eating an apple._

_Peter had a backside view, so he didn't know who it was, but something told him it either had to be future Gabriel or his future self again._

_Suddenly, Peter's question was answered when another man appeared directly before the seated man via teleportation._

_It was Peter's future self._

_Gabriel's jaw dropped, before the apple vanished from Gabriel's hand, and appeared in future Peter's. Peter could only guess that his future self, and future Gabriel, more than likely, also had Noah's ability._

_Future Peter took single bite of the fresh, red apple, and then, began to speak..._

"_It took me five-hundred and twenty-one years to find another person with Molly Walker's ability so I could locate you," future Peter whispered sadly, "Her very great grandchild. God, I searched for you __**all**__ over the world, __**endlessly**__. I even flew to the __**moon**__ in my own body after I gained the ability to live without breathing oxygen two-hundred and fifty-five years ago, but still, you weren't on any of the lunar colonies, either. But now, Gabriel Gray, you __**can't**__ run from me anymore..."_

_Gabriel said nothing, as Peter walked closer so he could get a better look at the two, walking around to the other side of the bench._

_Future Peter was stopped when he tried to get too close, by some sort of... some sort of invisible force field, like an impenetrable circle of energy was surrounding Gabriel. It appeared as if future Peter had walked into a wall, nearly falling backwards after smacking his head against it._

"_Oh Gabriel, you know that trick never worked on me... Not with my dissolution ability," future Peter spoke, placing his hands up against the invisible barrier as he said, "Disband."_

_Future Peter stepped closer once the barrier had been split, bent his knees, leaned forwards, and kissed Gabriel lightly on the lips. And, Gabriel hesitated momentarily, but finally kissed future Peter back, parting his full lips as future Peter's tongue slipped inside._

_Peter's future self pulled back, and then sad, "Say something, Gabriel. Please. It's been so many endless nights, so many never ending __**centuries**__ since I've heard your beautiful voice speak my name."_

"_Peter..." Gabriel finally whispered, giving the other man what he wanted, "I knew this was coming, sadly. I painted us together. I just didn't think it would happen this soon. Peter, I'm __**so**__ sorry, but I—I had to __**leave**__. After Noah, I couldn't __**bear**__ to look at you anymore, because when I saw you, I saw our son looking back at me. The memories... were too painful. And they still are. I want to cry, right now, and it's been so long since I've cried that I think I—I think had forgotten how... But now... but now I remember, Peter, I remember... Oh, God, Peter, I can't go on like this. I'm without him, without you. What if in two-thousand, ten-thousand more years that I forget his name?"_

_Future Peter sat down next to future Gabriel, as a tear streamed down Gabriel's face. Gabriel got out a handkerchief from his pocket, but before Gabriel could wipe the tear away, future Peter turned Gabriel's head, and licked it from his face._

"_You __**won't**__, I won't let you, and I'm __**never**__ letting you leave me again," future Peter whispered with sternness, stating what he appeared he figured to be a sure fact, "Never. With my new ability, I'll find you, find you wherever you go. To the moon, and in the future, to Mars... doesn't matter. I'll be by your side, night and day. __**Night and day**__."_

"_I-I don't know Peter..." Gabriel whispered back, "I just—I just __**don't**__ think things could ever be like they once were between us. All of these years, all of these goddamned, fucking __**endless**__ years have changed me, Peter. I still look back on what I once was, so many years ago, and I get __**sick**__. I __**still**__ have the dreams... the dreams I've had ever since you and I killed Angela. She was your first kill, I recall..."_

_Peter gasped. What? He and Sylar had __**killed**__ his mother, and Peter had __**consented**__ to it? What the __**fuck?**_

"_I-I dream of the past, of the future..." Gabriel spoke sadly, "But the past more so than anything else... Last—Last night I had a nightmare about the way we killed Mohinder..."_

_And Peter wanted to __**die**__._

_So __**that's**__ where he had gotten his superstrength in the future._

_He __**didn't**__ want to hear anymore of this._

_But Gabriel continued._

"_He fought us __**so**__ hard. Couldn't __**believe**__you__ of all people had sided with a __**monster**__ like me. And then, I cut him. And he screamed. He screamed so.. __**loud**__.. for.. so.. __**long**__.. Calling out __**your**__ name, __**begging**__ you to help him, and you just __**stood**__ there... with this __**grin**__ on your face, a __**grin**__ that makes me __**sick**__ to think about. Matt Parkman, Hiro Nakamura, and Ando Masahashi came for us after that, and it took them eight long years to find us, only by then, I had stopped killing, and you and I were no longer together..." he whispered regretfully, before he continued, "They found me at my home, and Matt handed me a gun and told me to shoot myself in the head with it. Then, you magically appeared to save me just like you always did and have, and since you had acquired telepathy from someone else, you were able to stop him. I explained to them all that I had changed, told them how sorry I was for Mohinder's death, and while Hiro and Ando seemed to understand, Matt did not. He broke down. Began sobbing. Came at me, began swinging punches, and I let him strike me, God, I let him. __**Wanted**__ him to. __**Finally**__, they left, and, thirty-eight years later, we both attended Matt's funeral, where he had been buried next to Mohinder, and I cried, God, I __**cried**__."_

"_We both did, Gabriel..." future Peter muttered, pulling Gabriel into an embrace, "We both did. And then, two years later, we teleported together to Tokyo for Ando's funeral. God, I'd never __**seen**__ Hiro so sad... nor his wife Charlie or their two sons. Hiro actually smiled when he saw us, though. They hugged us both, and then, we went back to their house, with their children, and had supper together. Several years later, though, they were dead. God, __**everyone**__ was dead. Hiro was the last original special out of all of us without regeneration to die."_

"_**Everyone's**__ dead, Peter. Everyone. And they will __**continue**__ to die. We have no one..."_

_A grin surfaced on future Peter's face. "I have a surprise for you, Gabriel. Now, don't freak-out or anything, okay?"_

_Future Peter got out a blackberry, and put his hand over it, as if her were talking to it. Technopathy, it was called, another ability Peter figured he had acquired over the years. Peter only prayed he and Sylar hadn't killed innocent little Micah Sanders of all people... Hell, he __**didn't**__ want to find out, though, curious as he was._

_Suddenly, a girl appeared. A tall girl, with long, flowing brown hair and brown eyes. She appeared to be twenty to twenty-three. Come to think, future Peter and future Gabriel seemed older, too. In their late thirties, now._

_Future Peter stood, and gave the girl a hug._

"_Gabriel, this is my daughter, Alice, after my aunt, and she's an empath like us."_

_Peter froze._

_Oh, __**God**__, he had __**daughter?!**_

_If this hadn't have been a dream, Peter's __**heart**__ would have __**stopped**__._

_She was suddenly the most __**beautiful**__ thing Peter had __**ever**__ seen._

_And he wanted to run over to her and embrace her, find out everything about her, ask her everything about her life._

_Gabriel's jaw dropped. "Peter, you have a __**daughter...?**__"_

_Future Peter smiled, and nodded. "Yes."_

"_Where's her mother?"_

_Future Peter sighed, rolling his eyes. "When you disappeared, I, yeah, sort of lost it... got into drugs for a while... starting going back to the strip clubs. Two-hundred twenty years later, I had a roll in the hay with one of the strippers named Angelica, and then, three months later she called me up out of nowhere while I was in Hong Kong and told me she was pregnant with my child. I freaked, of course. I stayed with her until the baby came, but after that, she disappeared, leaving me with our child. I cleaned myself up, stopped doing the drugs, took Alice and moved back to NYC. We stayed there for years, and then, just like Noah, her first ability manifested, only while she was in middle school. She was in home ec, and they were gardening. Show him what it is, dear."_

_Alice nodded, and turned towards the nearby river. She held out her hand, closed her eyes, and then, a stream of water floated out of the river, into thin air, forming a complete circle around them all._

_So she had the ability to control water...?_

'_**Amazing**__...' Peter thought, 'I have the most beautiful, __**amazing**__ daughter in the entire __**world**__, past, present, or future...'_

_Gabriel stood, and touched the floating stream of water, as if he still couldn't believe his eyes, even __**after**__ all he had seen._

_Future Peter chuckled. "I explained everything to her. Turned out her best-friend, Allison, had the same ability, and that she had absorbed the power from her. I taught her develop her empathy, and over the next several years, she acquired all of my abilities, __**including**__ cellular regeneration. After she graduated college and became a botanist, I finally... I finally told her about you, Gabriel..." Peter's future self muttered, sounding saddened, "Told her I __**had**__ to find you. That you were my __**soul mate**__. She smiled softly at me, and said she would help me."_

"_So you're the famous Gabriel Gray my dad's told me all about," Alice said with a smile, "I've waited so very __**long**__ to meet you. Dad told me we'd be a family when we found you, forever."_

_Gabriel stepped closer, and wrapped his arms around the girl, looking as if he were once again close to tears. "That's right, we're all going to be a family now."_

_When they pulled away, future Peter approached Gabriel, and took his face into his hands, pulling him in for a kiss. Gabriel didn't hesitate this time around, and returned it with full force, with pure passion._

"_I love you, Gabriel Gray, always and forever," future Peter whispered against Gabriel's lips._

"_I-I love you too, Peter Petrelli, __**so**__ much."_

"_Now, let's go back to NYC."_

_Gabriel smiled, and nodded, and then, the three of them teleported away, leaving present Peter standing and stunned._

'_I want to see my daughter again,' Peter thought, trying control the dream, hoping he could achieve his mother's level of skill, of control, '__**Take**__ me to her.'_

_***_

_Peter reappeared somewhere, where, he once again did not know._

_Then, he heard a gunshot._

_Peter ran down a dark street, into an alleyway, and there they all were._

_Only this time, someone else was with them._

"_It took me five-hundred and sixty-seven years to find you, but we __**finally**__ found Colby Sanders, the great, great, __**very**__ great grandson of Micah Sanders and Molly Walker in Mohinder Suresh's hometown in India. The same Colby Sanders whose ability you empathetically mimicked to find Sylar, Peter. We persuaded Colby to join us at The Company, and now that __**I**__ am in charge of it, I will see that you, and Sylar, are locked away on Level 5 again. If we don't have you beheaded first."_

_Peter stood still, shocked still more._

_Things had gotten better in this dream, only to turn back into a nightmare..._

_For there was Claire Bennet, his beloved __**niece**__, __**Nathan's**__ daughter, with that dark hair and those dark eyes, holding a __**gun**__ at Peter._

"_One bullet to the back of the head a piece?" a teenage girl, appearing to be nineteen, asked._

_Claire shook her head. "With their shapeshifting, they've moved the 'off switches' in their minds. Decapitation is the only way to be sure... We'll have to drug them, take them back to The Company, and finish them there. Or, let Shane 'do his thing'. Let um' die the old fashion way."_

"_Claire," future Peter entreated, "It's been so __**long**__ since we've killed. So __**long**__ since I've terrorized. We've changed, for the better, but you've changed, for the __**worst**__. You __**don't**__ have to be like this, Claire, you don't have to be like this. We-We can be a family again, Claire, God, that's all I want."_

_Claire smirked. "Me? Be a family with __**Sylar?**__ Fuck no. And you're __**not**__ my family anymore, 'Uncle' Peter. I was willing to let Sylar go when he had a wife and a child, but now he has neither."_

"_He has me, your niece," Peter countered._

"_I didn't drag Alice into this, Peter, __**you**__ did," Claire hissed, "You're not going to play the sympathy card with me. I'm willing to let Alice go, but __**not**__ you, and __**especially**__ not Sylar, after the way he murdered the __**both**__ of my fathers. Now, enough chit-chat, time to get down to business. Allison? Shane? Let's get them."_

"_Anything you want, Claire," the young girl Peter figured to be Allison said, before he gave Claire a quick peck on the lips."_

_Okay... once again, Peter was pretty fucking __**confused**__. So Claire had become a __**lesbian?**__ When the __**hell**__ had that happened...?_

_Future Peter, future Gabriel, and future Alice all raised their hands, future Peter's filling with purple flames, Gabriel's with electrical lightening, and Alice's with some sort of bright, pink light looked light, but was not, radiation._

_And the fighting began._

_Claire, Allison, and Shane all shot at the other three, but the bullets only had a temporary effect on them. When Allison came at future Peter with some sort of... some sort of automatic hacksaw, aiming for his neck, Peter's future self scorched her with a bright conflagration of flames._

_Peter was horrified. Surely the girl would be dead._

_Only... she wasn't... she... healed...?_

_Yes, she healed._

_So Claire had found herself a soul mate to spend eternity with, too._

"_Alice, Gabriel, let's teleport out of here," future Peter said in a harsh voice, "I'm sorry Claire, but you are __**insane**__ now. If you won't let me help you, if you don't want us to be a family like we never were, then I'm sorry for that, but it __**can't**__ go on like this."_

_Claire grinned. "You're right, it can't. Shane, why don't you show Mr. Badass here what your ability is... I think they'll recognize it..."_

_Shane grinned back, and walked up to Gabriel, as Gabriel stepped back, his hands still blazing with blue, electrical sparks._

"_Peter, this is your faggot lover, your 'soul mate' right?" Shane asked. "Well... looks like you're going to have to find another one..."_

_Shane then, in the flash of eye, teleported, to where he was standing behind Gabriel._

_He laid his hands on him._

_Then, a slight illumination of light flowed from Gabriel's body, into Shane's, as Gabriel screamed out, the lightening instantly fading from his hands._

_This continued momentarily, and, fuck, Peter knew what was going on._

_The same thing had happened to him, after all._

_Gabriel began aging rapidly due to his centuries' worth in age as his abilities were stolen from him, one by one, until finally, Gabriel quite literally turned to dust..._

"_NO!" future Peter shouted, tears instantly filling his dark eyes, and God, the Peter trapped in this horrific nightmare was screaming and crying right along with his future self..._

_Fuck._

_Fuck, fuck, __**fuck**__._

"_GABRIEL!" future Peter yelled, as he teleported over to Shane, as sliced him to pieces with some sort of... invisible razor. It was like telekinesis, only, not. The unseen blades were stronger, shaper than a telekinetic cut. Future Peter had made sure he had decapitated Shane._

_Future Peter growled an angry growl that Peter never would have suspected he was __**capable**__ of, before he, literally sped up to Claire with superspeed and smashed her head into the brickwork, blood splattering __**everywhere**__._

_She fell to the ground, unconscious._

_Or, dead._

_And then, future Peter sliced Allison's head off with that same, mysterious power..._

_Now, Claire would have to live on the rest of her life, for forever, without a soul mate too._

_After Allison was dead, future Peter, covered in blood, fell down to his knees, and began to sob._

_Alice ran over to him, got on the cold ground with him, and they embraced as they both cried together._

_And, fuck, present Peter was crying, too._

'_Oh my—Oh my __**God**__. Oh my fucking __**God**__. This is the most __**terrifying**__ thing I have __**ever**__ seen in my entire __**life**__,' Peter thought as the tears wet his face, 'Gabriel, poor, sweet Gabriel didn't deserve this! Now that I know the future, or at least a possibility for the future, I am going to stop it! Gabriel... __**My**__ Gabriel... Gabriel! Gabriel! No, __**Gabriel...!**__'_

***

"Peter, wake up!"

"_Gabriel!_" Peter shouted as he awoke, sitting up on the couch, his face covered in tears, "Oh, God, oh mom... It was—It was _awful!"_

"Peter, what happened?" Angela asked, wondering if she even really wanted to know. Wondering _why_ her youngest son would have been shouting _Sylar's_ true name in his sleep, and with such _desperation_.

"Gabriel... they killed him. They fucking _killed_ him. Claire and her _psychotic_ friends from The Company. Some guy with dad's power sucked Gabriel's abilities from his body, his regeneration included, and he faded out of _existence_, dissolved into _dust_. They _killed_ him, mom! In fucking front of me, in front of my _daughter!_"

"Daughter...?" Angela whispered, "Oh my, you must be becoming more powerful with my ability than I thought you to be _capable_ of if you have seen _that_ far into the future, for I have not seen that. But why, dear, why are you calling 'Sylar' 'Gabriel' now...?"

"Because—Because that's who he is, deep down mom, and if I... if I have to be with him to save him, to save his soul, to have Noah, to have Alice, then so be it... If Gabriel and I don't get... 'together', then Noah and Alice will probably never exist. We have to for the sake of their lives, their souls. And... mom, I... fuck, I think I love him..."

Angela's jaw dropped. "Peter, good God, you _can't_ be serious! These are **just** _dreams!_ They're **not** _real!_ Sylar wants you _dead_, not into your _bed!_ Sylar is _Sylar_, he's _not_ Gabriel Gray anymore. The man you 'love' doesn't even _exist_."

"Yet. But he _will_, mom, he will," Peter argued, "And-And we're _going_ to be together, raise a son and a daughter together, and Claire and her fucking lover and her fucking murdering _bastard_ of a friend who murdered MY Gabriel in the future will NOT kill him! Now that I've had the dream, I can _stop_ it!"

"Peter, you're _mad_. You're raving. _Control_ yourself. I thought this was about finding Nathan? _Not_ about 'falling in love with your rival' and saving his soul, saving his life some thousand years in the future."

"I-I'm still going to see Nathan..." Peter murmured, clutching himself tightly with both arms, "But I'm going to save Gabriel, too. I'm going upstairs, mom, going to bed... going to go dream some more... Find Nathan. Tell him I love him. Find Gabriel. Enter his dreams..."

Angela gritted her teeth. Fuck, she had been hoping Peter wouldn't get that idea into his head.

But now he had.

"Peter, if you're thinking about manipulating Sylar's dreams, you are _crazy_. Can you even _imagine_ what must go on inside his head? Parkman found out, and _look_ what it did to _him!_ Can you even _imagine_ what his dreams must be like? His nightmares?" Angela inquired, waving her hand, "It must be enough to drive a person _mad_ the way it did Parkman."

"_You've_ entered Gabriel's dreams."

"Don't be silly Peter, Sylar was drugged, only half asleep, and he wasn't dreaming, wasn't lucid. Be it may, I got lucky. Also, he was trying to reform back then. He's not anymore."

Peter stood from the couch, and began heading for the stairs.

"Peter, come back here, I am _not_ finished talking to you!" Angela shouted, her anger flaring, "Show your mother a little _respect!_"

"After what you, Noah, and Matt _did_ to Gabriel, fucking him up even more than he already _was_, my _God_, mom, I am showing you _all_ the respect you _deserve _by walking away from you," Peter snapped back, heading up the stairs.

Angela could only groan, but then, she too headed for the staircase.

She needed to sleep, needed to dream, too.

If she had another grandchild by Peter, she needed to see her.

And maybe find out a little more about 'Gabriel's' death along the way...

Peter entered the bedroom to which he had been sleeping in—Nathan's old bedroom, stomped over to the bed, and then, with careful determination, pulled the covers back and lay down, crawling beneath them. Peter turned onto his left-side, and closed his eyes tightly, trying to block out that last image of Gabriel. His last visions. His last gasp for breath. The horror, the pure _terror_ he must have experienced of being separated from Peter, from Alice, _forever_.

In that future, Peter figured he had probably put a gun in his mouth after that.

Peter lay there, for one, two, four, five hours. Nothing.

No sleep.

No dreams.

Until finally, at 3:37 A.M., sleep claimed him once again...

***

_Peter observed._

_He was in an office._

_Nathan Petrelli's office._

_Finally._

_**Finally**__._

_And then, Nathan walked in, sitting down at his office desk. He picked up a picture of he and Peter together at Nathan's wedding, and smiled, softly, running his hand down the front of the picture's glass._

"_Love you, Pete."_

"_Nathan, Nathan!" Peter shouted._

_But Nathan didn't hear him._

'_Concentrate, mom said, must __**concentrate**__ harder to __**make**__ him see me, like Charles did. Must gain __**control**__ of the power...'_

_And suddenly..._

"_Peter...?" Nathan murmured, "Did you—Did you teleport into my office...?"_

"_Nathan!" Peter shouted once again, running across the office over to his brother as Nathan stood, throwing his arms around Nathan's neck. "Oh God, Nathan, I've missed you __**so**__ much..."_

_Nathan chuckled. "Easy there, Pete. Can't __**breathe**__. And what are you talking about? We had dinner at mom's yesterday."_

_Peter shook his head. "No, Nathan... I-I'm not real. I'm not really here. It's an illusion, Nathan. I'm from the future..."_

"_...So you time-traveled?"_

"_No, I'm using mom's power over dreams. This is a postcognitive dream of mine, and I'm using her ability to see you."_

"_Peter..." Nathan began, suddenly having a very, __**very**__ bad feeling about this, "What did you __**mean**__ when you said you hadn't seen me in 'so long'...? Am I—Am I dead in the future you come from, Pete...?"_

_A silence._

_And then._

"_Y-Yes, you are..." Peter murmured, "Sylar kills you. Slashes your throat. And I'm not even gonna __**tell**__ you what happens after that... it's too horrible..."_

"_I don't want to know, Peter..." Nathan whispered, looking saddened, "But if that's my fate, then I accept it, and you have to also. I know why you came here, for closure, and I hope you've found it."_

"_I just wanted you to know how much I __**love**__ you, Nathan, how much I've always, __**always**__ loved you and __**will**__ always love you, be it in life, or death. I love you, Nathan," Peter repeated, his arms once again wrapping around his older brother._

_Nathan hugged him back. "Love you too, Pete. I'm loving you back from Heaven, right now, watching over you, laughing with you with you laugh, crying with you when you cry..."_

"_N-Nathan..." Peter stuttered, his eyes tearing up all over again as he pulled back, "Nathan..."_

_Nathan smiled softly, and leaned in, pressing his lips against Peter's lightly, giving him a single, gentle kiss before pulling back._

_Peter's eyes widened, before he lunged in, crushing his lips against Nathan's and attacking his lips with his own. Nathan opened his mouth very briefly and allowed Peter to kiss him momentarily, but then pushed him away._

_Nathan sighed, and chuckled again. "We went over this when we were younger, Pete. You know this just isn't right."_

"_I-I know..."_

"_Don't you worry, Peter, there's someone out there for you, someone very special, who will be very lucky to have you."_

_Peter nodded. "I know that... I've seen the future, and know who I'm destined to spend eternity with..."_

"_Really?" Nathan asked, highly interested, "Tell me, what's she—or he—like...?"_

_Peter looked down, and then, closed his eyes. "He's kind, gentle, and loving. We have a son together, and then, a daughter. That's why I have to go now, Nathan. I have to save his soul from damnation, his life from death. I also have to save Claire."_

"_I hope you do all of those things, Peter," Nathan remarked, placing a hand on Peter's shoulder, "And remember, I'll be with you, always. I live on through you. Watch over ma, over Claire, and over your special someone, and I'll be watching over you, from Heaven, always."_

_Nathan leaned forwards once again, tilting his head as he kissed Peter on the cheek._

"_Goodbye, Peter. I won't tell the present you anything about this. You're already so messed-up right now that something like this would __**definitely**__ freak you out."_

_Peter smiled. "Yeah, that is true. I was—__**am**__—pretty messed up, but, you know, I just reached the fifth stage."_

"_The what...?"_

_Peter shook his head. "Nothing, Nathan. Goodbye. Love you so __**much**__."_

"_I love you too, Peter."_

"_Love you," Peter repeated as he stepped back._

'_Now, take me to Gabriel... take me to his dreams...'_

_Peter closed his eyes, and when he opened them, he was once again somewhere else..._

_***_

_Peter observed._

_And, God._

_Oh God._

_This wasn't a dream..._

_...It was a nightmare._

_A horrible, horrible __**nightmare**__._

_Peter looked around._

_There were bodies. Mutilated, torn bodies that had been ripped apart scattered all about in the darkness. Their heads ripped open and their brains ripped out. The floor was covered in blood, with body parts, with dehydrated brains. Peter also recognized some of the bodies at that._

_Mohinder Suresh._

_Matt Parkman._

_Hiro Nakamura._

_Ando Masahashi._

_Noah Bennet._

_Claire Bennet._

_Sandra Bennet._

_Issac Mendez._

_Ted Sprague._

_Elle Bishop._

_Bob Bishop._

_His own mom._

_And many, many more._

_Peter figured that these were all of Sylar's victims, intertwined with the victims he had yet to claim, but __**wanted**__ to claim._

"_**Peter Petrelli**__..."_

_Peter looked up from the bloodied floor, seeing Sylar._

_He was wearing black pants and a white shirt, like he had been when Peter had last seen him._

_He, like everything else, was also covered in blood._

_His shirt nor skin not even white by majority anymore._

"_Gabriel..." Peter murmured, barely audible._

"_Peter, what the __**fuck**__ are you doing here? How did you find me? Are you in my head, Peter?" Sylar hissed vehemently._

_Peter nodded, as he began to step closer, through the blood, listening to it splash beneath his shoes._

"_I'm using dream manipulation to enter your dreams, your darkest nightmares, even. God, Gabriel, what made you so... __**evil**__...?"_

_Sylar grunted. "Get the FUCK out of my head, Peter, and do NOT call me 'Gabriel'. 'Gabriel Gray' is __**dead**__, do you hear me? Dead, and he's __**not**__ coming back."_

_Peter shook his head. "You're wrong about that, Gabriel. I've dreamed of you in the future. You... change..."_

"_Don't," Sylar said, cutting Peter off, "Just don't. I don't want to hear it. Peter... pretty little Peter Petrelli, you little son of bitch. Get __**out**__ of my head, or I'll show you things in here that will __**fuck**__ you up for __**life**__."_

"_I've already __**seen**__ every terrible thing imaginable, and if I wasn't fucked-up before—which, I was—I most certainly am now, and I assure you that I am very much fucked-up for __**life**__," Peter responded in a calm voice, "__**Especially**__ after what I've seen of the future. Our future, together, Gabriel."_

_Sylar frowned at the sound of 'Gabriel' again. "I see, you're trying to piss me off. Trying to __**entice**__ me to kill you, so you can be with your fucking likewise son of bitch __**dick**__ brother Nathan. You know what, though, Peter? I've decided __**not**__ to kill you after all, for no amount of torment I could put you through compares to the amount of suffering you're experience __**now**__, and, I __**want**__ you to suffer. I want you in __**pain**__. I want you to __**cry**__, __**every**__ night, knowing always and forever that you __**weren't**__ able to save your beloved brother."_

_Peter approached Sylar still more, until they were face to face._

"_They say if you die in a dream, that you wake up," Sylar said in an evil voice. He opened his left-hand, and it filled with blue sparks. "Maybe we should find out, Peter?"_

"_Later," Peter whispered, "But for now, Gabriel Gray... I'm turning this nightmare of yours into a __**dream**__..."_

_Peter threw his arms around Sylar's neck, and smashed their lips together._

_And just like that, the bodies, the blood, the pain, all vanished._

_The lightening in Sylar's palm faded instantly, as his arms shakily rose, wrapping back around Peter's smaller frame._

_Sylar deepened the kiss, hugging Peter's body close to his own, until their chests were pressed together._

_Sylar pushed his tongue into Peter's open mouth, and Peter pushed back, fighting for control of the kiss. They both did, neither one winning, nor losing. Neither one willing to give in, to hold up a white flag. The kiss went on, and on and on and on, until Sylar finally broke the kiss, pulling back._

"_Alright, shoot," Sylar whispered against Peter's lips, "What exactly __**did**__ you see in these 'dreams' of yours?"_

"_Can't tell you that," Peter whispered back, "Might fuck things up. I can show you... a __**little**__ bit, though..."_

_Peter pulled back, shut his eyes, and concentrated, __**hard**__._

_Suddenly, he and Sylar were in Costa Verde, the Bennet house._

"_Peter, where the __**hell**__ are we?" Sylar asked._

"_Just watch."_

_A baby's cry was heard._

"_The fuck?" Sylar said, "Peter, you have a __**kid?**__"_

_Peter shook his head. "No Gabriel, __**you**__ do..."_

_Sylar's fucking jaw dropped._

_Then, future Gabriel and future Peter entered the living room._

_They approached the crib._

"_Sssh, sssh, it's okay, champ, daddy's here, and so is your Uncle Peter," future Gabriel said, picking up the baby, "It's alright Noah, don't cry."_

_Future Peter chuckled. "God, he has been __**fussy**__ today."_

"_Peter, can you go get the formula out of the kitchen?"_

"_Yeah, sure thing, Gabriel," future Peter said, doing just that. He went into the kitchen, got the formula, and tested the temperature of it on his arm. Then, he returned to the living room. "Here you go."_

"_Thanks, Peter," future Gabriel replied, before he began feeding the baby._

_When he was finished, Gabriel's future self kissed Noah, and placed him back in the crib, wrapping him up securely in his blanket._

"_You are __**such**__ a good father, Gabriel Gray," Peter's future self said, cupping the side of Gabriel's face with one hand, "I __**love**__ you."_

"_I love you too, Peter Petrelli," future Gabriel whispered, before they leaned in for a quick peck. It was very brief, since at this point in time, they weren't together anymore. Hell, though, Sylar could __**not**__ tell..._

_And then, the dream faded back to black._

"_No!" Sylar shouted, "P-Peter, I-I need to see __**more!**__ More of my son. __**Show**__ me, goddamn you! Fucking __**show**__ me! Or I'll __**kill**__ you take this power of yours so I can see for myself!"_

"_Can't do that, Gabriel," Peter responded, "I've already stepped on __**too**__ many butterflies as it is just by entering your dream now. Just... promise me that in the future, if I take your ability of shapeshifting, and turn into Nathan, that you'll __**run**__. Run like hell. Just... get the hell __**away**__ from me at all costs."_

_Peter figured that now that he had the dreams, that this wouldn't happen, but still... he had to be cautious..._

_Sylar shook his head. "I won't do that, Peter, I don't run from anything. I'll fight you just like I always do, and win this time."_

"_Gabriel, you __**never**__ win against me."_

"_Oh __**fuck**__ you, Peter," Sylar sighed, rolling his brown eyes as a small pout escaped his parted lips._

_And, Peter thought that was __**adorable**__._

"_I-I __**love**__ you, Gabriel..."_

"_I __**hate**__ you, Peter."_

"_You actually expect me to __**believe**__ that?"_

"_Yes."_

_Peter rolled his eyes just as Sylar had, his hands cupping Sylar's face._

"_Look at me, Gabriel Gray. __**My**__ Gabriel Gray. Everything's going to be __**okay**__. I told you that in my dreams of the future when you thought you might __**die**__ from the pain life had given you, held you in my arms as you cried, and I'll continue to be there for you, Gabriel, __**my**__ Gabriel, always and forever. __**Night and day**__."_

_As fucked-up as Sylar thought—knew—this was, Peter could tell he was a little taken aback by Peter's loving words. Peter took the opportunity, and delved in for a final kiss goodbye just as he had done with Nathan, their lips and tongues meeting fervently once again._

"_Love you," Peter spoke as they broke apart, "See you soon for real, I hope."_

"_Yeah... M-Me too, Peter, me too. God, this is so fucking __**fucked**__-up, Peter. You're just as __**fucked**__ in the head as __**me**__."_

_Peter stepped back, and smiled._

_  
"Yeah, that probably is true. Pleasant dreams. Goodbye, Gabriel Gray."_

"_Bye, Peter Petrelli."_

_And just like that, Peter disappeared._

_Sylar's nightmare didn't return after that._

_For now, he was finally at peace._

_***_

'_Now where the hell am I...? I expected to stop dreaming, or to wake up. I've seen everything I've needed to see with this ability, done everything I've needed to do with it. Why am I still dreaming like this?'_

_Peter looked around once again._

_He was on a roof top._

_The same roof top where he and 'Nathan' had said goodbye._

_That night the fifth stage had been reached._

_On the edge of the roof, a man sat, dressed all in black._

_Peter swallowed, and slowly began to approach him._

"_Stop right there, Peter."_

_And so Peter did. "Who-Who are you...?"_

_The man turned around, and stood._

"_I'm you."_

"_Oh fuck..." Peter murmured. "What-What year is it...?"_

"_2901," Peter's future self responded, "I __**know**__ you've been following me. You think I didn't know, but I've known. I've always known. You __**have**__ to stop it, Peter, have to __**save**__ Gabriel for me. For you. For __**us**__."_

_Peter nodded. "I will."_

"_My life has been empty without him. Weren't it for Alice, I would have put a gun in my mouth two-hundred years ago..." future Peter whispered, his voice full of regret, of pain, of suffering, "If anything ever happens to Alice, I will for sure, so I can be with my family. Claire hasn't stopped hunting us, especially since I killed her partner. But, she killed mine, I killed hers. She's chased Alice and me all over the world, to the moon and back, to __**Mars**__, even. It can't go on like this, Peter. You have to do something about it. Save Gabriel from himself. Save Claire from herself. Save the world, again."_

"_I'll do it, Peter, I will," Peter responded, feeling a little funny saying his own name to his own self._

_Future Peter walked up to present Peter, and put one hand on his shoulder, running his other hand down Peter's face, almost intimately._

"_Now that's the me I knew back in the day. I can't __**believe**__ I was ever this naïve."_

_Peter blinked. "...O-kay, this is getting kinda fucked-up, even for __**us**__, Peter. Please, take your hands __**off**__ of me."_

_Future Peter chuckled. "Anything you say. You should go now. Give mom, Claire, and especially Gabriel, my—our—love."_

"_I will," Peter repeated, before future Peter rose into the air, and took off into the sky._

"_God that was fucked-up," Peter muttered, rubbing the side of his head._

'_Okay, I want to wake-up now.'_

_And so he __**did**__._

***

Peter awoke, yawning, stretching out his arms.

God, he needed a shower. How long had been since he had last taken one? He had been so focused on the dreams, on seeing Nathan again, on Gabriel, that the real world had evaded him completely for a while in favour of the dream world.

So, the first thing Peter did was take a shower, change his clothes, and then, he headed downstairs.

Peter entered the dining room, where Angela Petrelli was seated, drinking coffee.

"Morning, mom," Peter said with a bright smile on his face.

Angela smiled back. "You finally see Nathan?"

Peter nodded. "Yes, I saw Nathan... I also visited Gabriel, in his dreams. I reverted his nightmares _in_to dreams. Dreams of us. I-I really think things are going to work out, mom, I really do."

Angela could only sigh. "Peter, we've talked about this. If you won't kill Sylar, I'll get someone who will."

"Then I'll stop you."

Angela frowned.

"I'll _stop_ you, mom. I'll stop _all_ of you. You're not laying a hand on **my** Gabriel. I'll stop you, I'll stop you _all_."

And he _would_, too.

***

Sylar awoke from his nightmare, no, _dream_, and what a dream it had been...

Had it been... real though? Or was it really _just_ a dream? It had seemed so... so real, so very _real_...

Sylar knew about Angela's power, she had used it on him before back on Level 5 when she had told him to save Peter from Arthur Petrelli.

Yes, that was right.

Apparently, Peter had temporarily mimicked her power.

So that future Sylar had seen... that future Peter had shown him, of Sylar, of Peter, of Sylar's son, was... _true...?_

"Oh my _God_..." Sylar murmured to himself, "Do _Peter Petrelli_ of all people and I get _married_ or something...?"

Yeah, that was pretty _**fucked-up.**_

Peter was his sworn enemy. His _rival_. But in the future, Peter was his sworn lover, his _soul mate_, or so it seemed.

"I've always had a bit of a 'thing' for Petrelli, but my fucking _God_, this is _fucked_."

Well, Sylar only knew one thing for sure.

If they were gonna get married...

..._Peter_ was going to be the one in the dress.

***

**A/N:** Damn, that was _long...!_ I think it took me fifty minutes just to beta this. (And, yeah, I am kind of a slow reader, unlike my grandmother...) Sorry bout' how long that was... And... Urm, I... dunno... Yeah, that was... yeah... pretty messed-up... Peter was pretty messed-up in this. Fo' sure. I totally hated Claire in this, though. I didn't like IABD!Claire at all, so I really hope that never happens to her. x__x;; Samuel was also kinda crazy here, but, yeah, I guess he is, well, crazy... lol. Well, maybe not 'crazy', but, a little 'unbalanced'. I really am hoping for an awesome scene where Edgar, Lydia, Hiro, and the others fight back against Samuel and his carnie army. xD Angela also kinda urked me in this, even if she is my favourite character on the show, but I'm pretty freakin' sure that if anything like this ever did happen, she would still want Sylar/Gabriel dead. And, Millie, my God, what a bitch! :0 I... kinda like her paired with Angela though. Dang, I am f'd-up...

Well, yeah... guess that's all I have to say.

As usual, plz dun flame me! Again, I am not worth the effort! :P I delete anon flames and block logged-in reviewers who flame so they can't flame me again...

Now I'll go to work on my next Pylar/Petlar fic, the one about the mall... lmfao...

A-n-d, happy holidays, everybody! Merry Christmas, happy New Year's! xD


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